


Wrath's Palace

by Nijad



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Crime, F/F, Pain, Villain Yang, post volume 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-12-15 19:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nijad/pseuds/Nijad
Summary: It can only take one wrong turn to get completely lost in life. Yang took a wrong turn at a fork in the road near Mistral. As her life spirals downward, will she be able to regain control and steer it back on course? Or will she even want to?"Wrath doesn't always build a prison in your head. Sometimes it's the most lavish palace you've ever seen, so luxurious you'll never want to leave. You're still trapped inside, but at least the curtains look nice enough for you not to care."





	1. Judgement

**Author's Note:**

> Heya all! This work is an odd one. This is a springboard off one of my older, longer fics, where in the background Yang turned to a life of crime after the fall. I enjoyed the idea, and thought I'd flesh it out, but I took my sweet time doing it. So, here it is almost 6 months after that fic was put on ice. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, this chapter is kinda an en medias res deal. It's something of a flash forward.

**VALE POLICE PRECINCT**

**11:45 PM**

**6 YEARS AFTER THE FALL OF BEACON**

 

The lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickered slightly as it swayed lightly back and forth, illuminating the three figures in the room. The two rookie cops, still in their uniforms, looked over who the Huntresses had dragged in as they went over her record. Countless counts and charges filled the bulging folder, from fraud, to murder, to the, albeit technical, possession of a weapon of mass destruction in the form of her cybernetic enhancements. They looked at her, still amazed that this is the same woman in the file. Sat opposite of them was a 23 year old woman, with long blonde hair and eyes red as blood. Her leather coat and pants were slashed and torn, and her entire right sleeve seemed to have been blown off, revealing a wicked-looking cybernetic, covered in swordbreaker studs, and having clawed fingertips. Both of her hands were cuffed to the table, and she was sitting calmly, but the rookies had been told not to take their eyes off her. The taller of the two finally cleared his throat, getting her attention.

 

“You, uh, really got the works here, don’t’cha, girl?” the rookie said. Immediately, the woman’s gaze snapped to him, and the rookie felt his blood run cold.

 

“Get me Jaune Arc. Beacon’s headmaster.” She spat at the cops.

 

“I-It’s named Nikos Academy now,” the shorter cop stammered, “After-”

 

“I know who it was named after, and I also don’t give a shit. Bring Arc here. We have shit to talk about.”

 

“Lookie here girl, you ain’t really in a position to be makin’ demands for anything but a lawyer,” the tall cop said, “and to be honest I wouldn’t bother.”

 

“Lemme ask you something,” the woman said. “You read the name on that profile?”

 

“Of course I have!” the tall cop said, before pausing, and looking at it once more. “Yang Xiao Long… wait… there’s no-”

 

“Now, I’m sure that’s a name you know. And with it you know what I’m capable of.” Yang stood up, breaking the chains on her arms as if they were paper. “I’m running out of reasons to pretend to be helpless here. Send Arc in here, or I have to get direct. And you all know what happens when I get direct, right?”

 

Without a sound, the two cops nodded, and quickly left the room. Yang briefly pondered going anyway, but felt the last few scraps of goodwill she had left with Jaune were worth preserving. She sat back down, put her feet up on the table, and waited. After what felt like an eternity, the door finally opened again, and in walked the man of the hour.

 

“Been awhile, Arc,” Yang said, putting her feet back on the ground.

 

Jaune merely sighed as he walked into the room, his hand firmly on the pommel of his sword. He had clearly come dressed for battle, his white and gold armour adorning his torso and arms, as well as a few plates on his legs. He had grown a moustache and beard since Yang had last seen him. She decided it made him look way too much like Taiyang.

 

“You’ve got thirty seconds to explain why I shouldn’t have you put behind bars so deep underground that even you couldn’t escape,” he said coldly.

 

“C’mon Jaune,” Yang started, “we’re better friends than-”

 

“Fifteen seconds,” He said, not even flinching.

 

It was Yang’s turn for a deep sigh. “You were right. I want back in. Back into the Hunt.”

 

Jaune’s grip on his sword briefly loosened. “You had your chance. You chose to make it a measurement of egos. You won that one, Yang. You made the choice to walk away after reducing 3/4ths of the Emerald to a smoldering crater.”

 

“That was a fun fight and you know it, Arc,” Yang said with a grin, making Jaune’s scowl harden. “Okay, not the time for jokes I guess…”

 

Jaune chuckled. “Jokes? The time for jokes was after Salem. You walked away then too. How many second chances do you want to refuse Yang? Blake took hers.” Jaune noticed Yang soften, and the years seemed to travel backward, Jaune seeing that wounded girl in bed, staring at the window, hoping in vain. He sighed, and shook his head. “Why should I trust you this time?”

 

“Because I’ll tell you everything,” Yang said, looking Jaune in the eyes. “Every last detail. I’ll explain how it happened. I’ll tell you how I learned the Assassin Fist. How I formed the Dragons Syndicate. What happened after Salem. Everything. Then you can make your call.”

 

Jaune was surprised. To offer an explanation for everything.... “And if I still refuse you?”

 

“Then I walk right back to my boys at the Dragons.” Yang said. “Dust knows you can’t stop me with anything short of an army or Vale’s entire stable of Huntsmen. Minus, of course, that welcome party that jumped on me as soon as I left downtown. They should all still be alive, though. Coco’s gang is tough, I’ll give them that. There’s a reason I still let them bring me in after.”

 

Jaune sighed again. “The fact that you’re a one-woman army aside, this uneasy truce between us has to end sooner or later, Yang. You know I can’t ignore the Dragons forever, especially if it goes public that Blake’s working both sides.”

 

“Then listen to me, Jaune,” Yang said. 

 

Jaune shook his head, before taking the seat across from Yang. “Fine, tell me everything. From the beginning.”


	2. The High Priestess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang takes a wrong turn.

**ANIMA OUTSKIRTS**

 

**2:34 PM**

 

**6 MONTHS AFTER THE FALL OF BEACON**

 

“You’re in so much trouble when I find you,” Yang said out loud, as she looked at the directional sign in front of her. She continued staring at the sign, a fight with herself going on inside her head. Every rational thought was screaming at her to follow the sign that pointed to Mistral, to see Ruby and the others again, to bring team RWBY back. The thought brought the smile back to her face for a moment.

 

But only a moment.

 

She sighed, knowing there was something she had to do first. It had taken all the weaseling and prodding she could bring herself to do, all the snooping late at night when Dad was asleep, but it had payed off. She had something concrete about her mother. The village her clan occupied wasn’t far from here. It was gonna be simple; go to her, have a discussion, then no matter what happened, go right to Mistral and to Ruby. She turned her bike, and sped down the street towards her destination. It’d be an extra day at most, she thought, and in the grand scheme of things, what could one day matter?

 

Yang had driven for about 2 hours down the straight road, until she spotted a lone figure standing in the middle of it. She immediately began to brake, skidding to a stop around 50 feet from the person in the road. “Hey! Watch where you’re…” Yang began, before getting a good look at who the person was. It was a woman about her height, clad in a highcut red and black robe, with black thigh-high boots and a belt around her waist. On the belt sat a sheathed katana, the scabbard looking very elaborate with several switches and buttons. Her hair was quite long, and almost resembled feathers as it cascaded down her back. Most distressing of all to Yang, however, was the birdlike Grimm mask that obscured her face. 

 

It was her. Raven Branwen.

 

Yang composed herself, her expression hardening at her mother. “I didn’t expect to see you for another few hours.”

 

Raven reached up, pulling her mask off. Yang thought she looked just like the photos; almost like an older version of herself. Crimson eyes locked with violet, and Raven spoke. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, placing the mask into the pouch on her hip. “Turn back.”

 

Yang’s hands clenched around the handlebars. “Not until we talk.”

 

“We have nothing to discuss.”

 

“That sure is a change of tone from when we last talked,” Yang said, removing her sunglasses, showing her eyes had began turning red. “You seemed to have a lot on your plate back when I was nearly killed on that train. Did that happening a second time turn you off?”

 

“I saved you once to give you a chance to prove yourself. To show me your strength. To show me that you could survive.” Raven spoke with absolute stoicism, barely even moving her face. “Your response? To nearly immediately throw your life away again. I have no time to waste on people so weak as to not have basic survival instincts.”

 

Yang’s teeth began to grind against each other. “Sometimes the things we save are more valuable than our own lives.”

 

“All you saved was another weakling. One not even strong enough to stay with you.”

 

“ _ That’s enough! _ ” Yang shouted, jumping off her bike and walking towards Raven. “You talk an awful lot of shit for someone who claims to be so ‘disconnected’. If I’m so beneath your notice, why do you know all this? Why are you here  _ now _ ?”

 

Raven looked at Yang, her expression still unmoving. “Because, as much as we both loathe to hear it, our blood is the same. You are my daughter, Yang. I have investment in keeping you alive.”

 

“I can guess why, and it ain’t because of love,” Yang said. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s  _ a lot _ of reasons why me having kids isn’t exactly the best endgame for you to be going for.”

 

“Regardless, you have wasted enough of my time, Yang.” Raven’s tone became suddenly more stern. “You will turn and leave now. Your business is with Summer Rose’s daughter.”

 

Yang’s eyes were blood red, her fists clenched so hard her prosthetic began to softly creak. “ _ I am _ Summer Rose’s daughter,” she spat, pointing her thumb at her chest, before sticking her finger out at Raven. “And your business is with me.”

 

Raven reached into her bag, and replaced her mask on her face. “You will leave, now.”

 

Yang primed her gauntlets on her wrists. “Or what?”

 

Raven drew her sword, the crimson blade extending to its full, enormous length. The red blade gleamed in the sun, and Raven held it out at her. “Or you’ll learn just how weak you are.”

 

Yang began running forward, and reeled her arm back in preparation to fire a shot from her gauntlets. Raven braced herself, ready to parry the shot as Yang fired. However, rather than the fiery projectiles hitting her as planned, Yang launched them into the dirt at her feet, spraying the loose particles upward into her field of vision. Unable to see, Raven twirled her sword with enough force to clear the dust cloud, in time to see Yang in midair, her arm primed for a strike. Unable to bring her blade back up in time, Raven ate the punch directly to the side of her head, Yang landing slightly past her. Raven turned and looked at her, the shattered pieces of her mask falling off her face and to the floor, revealing that her expression hadn’t changed. She attempted to slash at Yang vertically, but Yang parried the strike against the back of her prosthetic hand, gliding it to the side as she landed another blow, this time to Raven’s abdomen. Yang continued to fight defensively, baiting out strikes and attacking after a block or a dodge. Raven responded by becoming unpredictable, slashing in erratic and quick ways, landing as many blows as Yang would. Eventually, on one swing, Yang bet the farm and grabbed the sword, using her prosthetic’s strength to tear it from Raven’s hands and toss it aside. She kicked Raven in the chest, making her stumble back.

 

“Let’s see how you are when it’s an even fight,” Yang said, resuming her stance.

 

“I assure you,” Raven said, assuming her own stance, one hand held high behind her head, and the other low below her waist, “it still isn’t.”

 

Yang immediately ran in, striking with her gauntlets as Raven effortlessly dodged her strikes. Raven struck with infrequent and careful strikes, in between Yang’s. After several minutes of trading blows, Yang landed a body blow with her prosthetic that completely shattered Raven’s aura, sending her tumbling backward. As she stood back up, Yang grinned, running forward, her left arm surging forward in a powerful strike meant to end the fight. Raven seemed to immediately snap out of her daze, moving to the side before striking hard into Yang’s shoulder. A sickening crunch followed by a scream filled the air, Yang falling to her knees and clutching her freshly dislocated shoulder. Raven calmly walked to her sword, picking it up and replacing it in its scabbard. “Are you quite finished now?” she asked, looking at Yang. “You can’t fight me with one arm.”

 

Yang slowly stood up, her left arm hanging limply to the side, she turned around, a fiery aura consuming her as she turned to face Raven. “Watch me,” she spat, before using her remaining arm to launch herself forward with her gauntlet, screaming as she attempted a hail mary flying punch, as she had 6 months ago in Beacons burning lunchroom. Raven got into a low stance, her hand on her blade, and right as Yang would make impact, she slashed, the sound of metal on metal shrieking through the wilderness.

 

Followed by the clattering of a broken sword blade against the ground.

 

Yang once again landed past Raven, having shattered her sword against her fist. She spun on her heel, and put everything she had into one last strike, the full force of her semblance coming down on her mother. Raven quickly turned, and caught the punch in her left hand, with a rippling shockwave disrupting the air behind the impact. Raven stood stalwart, unflinching despite stopping a punch that would have reduced an Ursa to powder.

 

Yang’s eyes were wide in shock. “How.. you had no aura left… every bone in your arm should be dust!” She tried to free her arm from Raven’s grip, to no avail. “What are you?”

 

“I am strong,” Raven said, before detaching the blade from her sword’s handle, and attaching another from her scabbard, the now-yellow blade extending to full length under her prosthetic, “unlike you.” In a single, clean motion, she slashed upward, the blade cleaving effortlessly through the prosthetic and sending Yang falling backward. With no way to stop herself, she hit the ground hard, with Raven’s boot impacting hard into her stomach soon after, breaking the small remaining aura she had left. “To think we share blood is an embarrassment.”

 

“Hey, I’ve had a  _ lot _ of surgeries,” Yang said, managing a small grin, “I’d wager there’s no more of you in me than some random dude in Vale that happens to have AB+.”

 

“A joke, even with the wolf at your door,” Raven said, leveling the tip of her sword at Yang’s neck, making the grin vanish. “You are the daughter of that fool, that is for certain.” Yang said nothing, trying to squirm out from under Raven. “Struggle all you want, you had the chance to walk away. Instead you’re the fool who let her wrath control her.”

 

“If you’re gonna monologue can you at least kill me first?” Yang asked, finally stopping her squirming.

 

“What you get is a choice,” Raven said. “I can send you home, where you can rot in your own weakness until you die, or I can send you where you’ll become strong enough to face your destiny.”

 

“If you’re not gonna kill me, can’t you just send me to Ruby?”

 

“Do you really want to go to her now?” Raven asked. “Broken, beaten, with the knowledge that you’re too weak to even beat me? Your enemies are stronger than I am, some of them leagues so.”

 

“I would help her!” Yang shouted.

 

“Would you? Or would you drag them down?” Raven made direct eye contact with her. “You couldn’t even save Blake when you were at your peak. Do you really think you now, as a shadow of yourself, are worth anything to them in this time of war?”

 

“We’re family!”

 

“All the more reason for you to be a burden. Attachment is weakness. Leverage. You going to her now is only going to get you abducted and used for leverage. Make no mistake, you going to Ruby Rose would only get you both killed.” Raven’s sword poked Yang’s neck. “Now choose.”

 

“I…” Yang tried to think rationally, how she could help Ruby, what she could do, but only Raven’s poisonous words filled her head. She was weak, a burden, worthless. She had been there before.

 

And she would be damned if she ever would be again.

 

“I want to become strong. Stronger than you, than anyone.” Yang’s eyes burned with determination. “Send me there or kill me, I don’t care which.”

 

“Stand up.” Raven stepped off Yang, who struggled to her feet. Raven turned, and slashed her blade, a gaping red portal that swirled into blackness appearing. “Through here is where you will become strong. They’ll also treat your arm, I presume.” Yang stepped forward, examining the portal, before feeling a foot make contact with the small of her back, shoving her forward through the hole. 

 

*****

 

Yang landed face first in the snow, suddenly glad she was wearing a coat. She again struggled to her feet, and looked around at her new surroundings. It was twilight, so she had been sent somewhere so far away that the time was different. Snow fell around her, and as she gazed around, mountains were peaking over each other in every direction. Finally, in front of her stood a wooden tower that was seven stories tall, decorated in ornate flourishes and roofing. The person who seemed to be sitting at the door stood and walked to her, concern on his face. He had a long, white beard, but was otherwise bald. His brown eyes matched the shade of his robes, draped around his large and broad body. He spoke, a heavy accent present in his speech.

 

“Are you injured? Your arm looks broken.”  He offered Yang his shoulder, which she braced the remainder of her right arm on. “Is this other arm metal?” Yang nodded. “Then you’d better come inside, frostbite is a danger. The two entered the building, the man setting Yang on the couch, before sitting next to her. “It’s merely dislocated. Hold still, this will hurt.” Yang shouted as the man popped her shoulder back into place, and she flexed her fingers. “Wait here.” He said before leaving, giving Yang time to look around. The room was sparsely decorated, two sofas facing each other and a fireplace being the only noteworthy features. The plain, ancient Mistrali influences were apparent however, from the sliding paper doors to the mats on the floor. One of the doors slid open, the man returning with pills and some water. “These are painkillers, they should help.” Yang hesitated, before taking the medicine and the water. “I will perform a full examination once the medicine has set in. You fell through one of Blackwing’s portal’s, you’ll likely need more treatment.”

 

“Blackwing?” Yang asked, breaking her silence.

 

“Blackwing is the given name of Mistress Branwen, one of this tower’s few masters.” the man explained, sitting across from Yang. “I am Tatara, Grandmaster of the Oni Tower. Who are you? Do you know Mistress Blackwing?”

 

Yang looked down. “She’s my birth mother.”

 

Tatara shook his head. “Then we have much to discuss. Come, we may talk over your examination.”

 

He stood and beckoned Yang to follow. She sat, millions of questions surging through her head, before she decided to follow Tatara. She had to get strong, and if this is the man who trained Raven, then there’s nowhere else on Remnant she needed to be. She had to get strong. Ruby needed her to get strong.

 

That’s what Yang told herself, anyway.


	3. The Hermit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang becomes stronger, through the teachings of the Oni Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this one gets a little heavy, so if you're sensitive to themes of abuse and abandonment, be warned.

**THE ONI TOWER**

 

**9:44 PM**

 

**6 MONTHS AFTER THE FALL OF BEACON**

 

Yang sat in her underwear on a chair inside some kind of makeshift infirmary, the old man calling himself Tatara examining her body for injuries. Thankfully, from what it seemed, her shoulder was the only major injury, the rest just bruising that would easily heal along with it. Tatara got off his knee, stand up and turning to the door. “Get dressed, then meet me in the common room,” he said, before leaving quietly. Yang stood up, looking at herself in the mirror present in the room. Aside from the grisly scarring around her amputation, she’d been beaten to hell and back; her stomach was covered by a large bruise where Raven’s boot had made purchase, along with the nightmare that was her still recovering shoulder. Her eyes had finally managed to shift back to violet, which comforted her at least somewhat. She dressed herself, being careful not to stress her shoulder, before stepping outside.

 

Tatara sat on one of the two sofas in the common room, having placed a small table between them. On it sat a bottle and two small cups, into one of which Tatara poured clear liquid from the bottle. Yang sat down, and Tatara offered her the glass he hadn’t altered. “Water?” Yang asked.

 

Tatara chuckled. “For you, lest the painkillers kill  _ you _ . Mine is Sake from Mistral. It was a parting gift from Master Shuten-Doji, my last student.”

 

“Shuten-Doji?” Yang asked, drinking her water.

 

“It means ‘Little Drunkard’ in my language.” Tatara said, before drinking his glass. “But his is a story for another time. We have much to discuss already.”

 

“Yeah,” Yang said, “like, what is this place? Where are we on Remnant?”

 

Tatara sighed, closing his eyes. “This is the Oni Tower, a place of great holiness in a culture long dead to time. They practiced an art known to them as the  _ Ansatsuken _ , or in your tongue, the Assassin Fist.”

 

“That sounds like something out of a cartoon or a game or something,” Yang said.

 

“I assure you, it was not some comedic affair. The Assassin Fist was an early form of aura manipulation that turned the user into a one-person army. With their strength and powers, they were often criminals and villains, and were branded as  _ Oni _ , or simply demons. They were captured, kept in prisons and killed.” Tatara opened his eyes, his irises a shade of crimson that was far too familiar for Yang. “All but one.”

 

“What the  _ fuck? _ ” Yang shouted, her eyes bulging wide.

 

“The Assassin Fist takes your aura within you.” Tatara closed his eyes, opening them again to reveal his familiar dark brown ones. “Rather than the aura protecting the body as a barrier, it is absorbed into the body, augmenting it. Your strength, as well as your aura’s bodily reconstruction, are increased several hundredfold. But because the aura is tied to one’s semblance, it too is exacerbated. My semblance allowed me to regenerate my body from any injury quickly. However, when I played with the devil…”

 

“It stopped your aging…” Yang said, with Tatara nodding. “But how did you do the eyes thing?”

 

“When entering the enhanced state of the Assassin Fist, the body has to rapidly alter its composition in order to not simply erode from the energy. These changes are numerous, but the most apparent side effect is the irises changing to red in colour.” Tatara tensed without closing his eyes, this time allowing Yang to see the transition. It resembled blood emerging from the pupil, and overtaking the brown rapidly. “In some cases,” he continued,  “this can become permanent, like in the case of your mother. I was lucky with my own eyes; were your mother to exist in my time, she would have likely been hunted down and killed for her eyes.”

 

“But if that’s the case,” Yang pondered, “why do my eyes do that too, when I’m mad, or when my semblance is going off?”

 

Tatara sighed. “That is your birthright, Yang Xiao Long.”

 

“My what now?” Yang asked, becoming even more confused.

 

“The Fist is mastered by conquering certain emotions, taking them to their extremes and letting it consume you whole. These emotions being Wrath, Fear, Hatred, and Sorrow.”

 

“Those are…” Yang began, the pieces falling into place. “Those are emotions that attract the creatures of Grimm!”

 

“Indeed.” Tatara said, nodding. “Even in my time, the Grimm were a threat to survival. This is why the Oni were loathed. They were beacons for the beasts, their connection to negativity so strong it threatened to bring down the entire culture. Eventually, it did.” He closed his eyes, dropping his head. “Regardless, this is how one gains control over their aura in such a manner. Channeling it through their negative emotion that is closest to their hearts. For your mother, that was her Hatred of the weak. For me, it was my fear of death.”

 

“That… actually makes some sense,” Yang said. “Aura has to do with emotion, I think, so immense negativity affecting it like that makes sense.” She shook her head. “But what does this have to do with  _ me _ ? Why do I do it too?”

 

Tatara sighed once again. “When the Assassin Fist is being used, the body must alter itself, as I told you. When the body reverts, some of these changes linger, either as a side effect, or to lessen strain on the body during future uses. Growing taller, building additional muscle, among other things. These traits, as it turns out, are often hereditary,” Tatara said, pointing at Yang, “as evidenced by you.”

 

“Me?” Yang asked.

 

“You are a perfect storm. The child of the most powerful Oni in centuries, with training from many of the deadliest people on Remnant. Your potential is shown in your eyes. It shows your connection both to your latent potential, and to your connection to your Wrath.”

 

“How… how do you know all this about me?” Yang stammered.

 

“You mother came to me two years ago.” Tatara looked Yang in the eyes. “She spoke of you, of your potential, of your birthright. I simply did not recognize you at first, much has changed between what she told me and who you are now.”

 

“More than you think,” Yang said, “Trust me.”

 

“Regardless,” Tatara continued, “this is where your birthright lies. It comes at incredible risk, but I can teach you the art that felled an entire culture. I know your semblance, your emotions, and if you become a Master as your mother did, you would become quite possibly the strongest woman in the world.”

 

Yang heard those words, and felt her mind race. “There’s more to it than just the Grimm, isn’t there.”

 

Tatara nodded. “You will become the embodiment of the emotion your heart is closest to.” He placed his palm over his heart. “My fear keeps me here, locked in this tower for fear of prejudice and persecution. You, however, will become the embodiment of Wrath. A being hell-bent on vengeance and war.” He once again made eye contact with Yang. “Make no mistake. You will become the strongest woman on Remnant, but your chance at a peaceful life will disappear.”

 

_ Disappear… _ Yang’s thoughts drifted, drifted to something, some _ one _ she thought she’d never think of again. Someone she swore she’d never let herself think of again after she ran.

 

“That happened 6 months ago,” Yang said, “and I’m done waiting for her to come back.” Yang stood up. “Teach me.”

 

Tatara stood with her. “Then, let us begin.”

 

*****

**ONE MONTH SINCE ARRIVING AT THE ONI TOWER**

 

“Focus,” Tatara said. “Follow your rage into the void.”

 

Yang sat meditating on the roof of the tower, the cold winds biting her with her aura down. She was focusing it into her core, channeling it into where Tatara instructed. As she did, she dwelled on her anger, her rage, her wrath, and all that caused it, trying to understand it.

 

“What gives birth to your anger, Yang?” Tatara said, pacing in a circle around her. “What made you into a creature of Wrath?”

 

Yang searched, sought the source of her anger. Every small outburst, every long tirade, and everything in between could be traced back to one moment. A moment Yang could barely remember, and one that didn’t even enrage her at the time.

 

A lone, feminine figure, with billowing black hair, walking out the door, from her and her father, both begging her to stay.

 

“Her…” Yang said through gritted teeth. “She abandoned us. Not for our sake, not because of her past, but because I wasn’t good enough!” The pieces began falling into place, Raven’s comments from that day, colliding with everything she’d done. “I wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted her son, her proper heir to whatever bullshit throne she thinks she sits on. Dad chose to help me over indulge her, and she wrote us off, we were nothing but tools to her!” Yang’s fist clenched. “I am not her son! I never will be, I never have been! But that fact alone filled her with enough hatred for me that it probably gave her a fucking power boost!”

 

“Your Wrath gave you strength!” Tatara shouted. “You are Yang Xiao Long, daughter of Taiyang Xiao Long! Yet, you were abandoned!”

 

Yang’s fist impacted on the wood roof, nearly splintering the surface. “And when I finally get somewhere in life, gain a purpose, and I’m truly  _ happy _ , I let  _ her _ in. I gave her everything, I nearly died for her! And she  _ ran _ !” Yang’s hair was a burning pyre of flame, and she opened her eyes, revealing blood red irises. “She’s no better than Raven! She only cared about herself, not thinking of anyone else. But this time, it was because she was too much of a damn  _ coward _ to care about anyone else. She fled to fuck knows where, and left me to rot!” Yang stood, a fire in her belly erupting, spreading to the rest of her body. She felt immense power surge from the tips of her toes to the palm of her hand. She took a deep breath, and stared directly at Tatara. “Well not again. Not this time. I am sick and fucking tired of being left in the dirt by people I loved. By people I thought loved me. I will not be left behind ever again. I’ll take everyone down who wronged me, who deceived me, who left me behind. I’ll take everything back, and then take more. No one will ever stop me ever again.”

 

Tatara smiled. “You are ready, Yang.”

 

Yang smiled back. “Then let’s get it on, old man.”

 

*****

 

**FOUR MONTHS SINCE ARRIVING AT THE ONI TOWER**

 

Yang breathed deep, her billowing, fiery mane fluttering in the wind. “Come at me.”

 

Tatara nodded, his own eyes becoming crimson as he steeled himself. In an instant, he was upon her, and she was upon him. The clash lasted only a few seconds, but dozens of blows flew, many finding purchase but with seemingly no effect. The two fought at an incredible pace, Tatara’s additional limb allowing more strikes that Yang could deliver. However, that only succeeded in fueling Yang’s amped-up semblance, and when Yang’s slower, slugger-like blows finally hit Tatara’s body, it sent the older man spiraling backward hundreds of yards, until he collided with the side of the cliff face. Picking himself off the ground, he relaxed his body, his eyes transitioning back, and he walked over to Yang, who stood with a trimphant grin. “Wanna make it 5 outta 9 old man? Or is 4 in a row enough for ya?”

 

Tatara chuckled, walking over to a table they had set up outside. He poured glasses of Sake for him and Yang, one of which he offered to her. “These old bones need a rest.”

 

“Those old bones don’t need shit, you’re just tired of losing.” Yang sipped her drink, still not quite used to the strength of it. “Gods, this is good shit. You need to give me one of the bottles. I’ll track down every last bottle of it if I can.”

 

“Good luck with that,” Tatara chuckled again. “Only 12 bottles were ever produced, and we’ve drank 5 of them. This is the last of the half-dozen Shuten-Doji left me.”

 

“Damn,” Yang said. “Well, there’s another thing to add to the list. Vengeance, Power, and Sake. Quite the narrative.”

 

Tatara continued to laugh. “Regardless, your training has been… astounding. The stories on children of Oni were not lies.”

 

“What do you mean?” Yang asked.

 

“Yang, were it not for your lineage, you would likely still be meditating. And frankly, were it not for your background, there would likely be another four months of it ahead of you. What we are doing now is mere martial arts training, so that you may use your strength to its fullest. You are a prodigy, a true Demon to your very soul.”

 

“Aw, you’re gonna make me blush,” Yang mocked. “And that’s hard, given the whole ‘consumed by my Wrath’ thing. Wouldn’t be surprised if my blood was magma at this point or some shit.”

 

“You’re implying anything on this planet could make you bleed,” Tatara said, making them both laugh. Tatara looked at the top of the tower, longing present in his eyes. “It’s time, Yang.”

 

“You mean…”

 

“Yes. When a new master is born here, they are given a home, a floor on the Oni Tower of their own. It is time to build yours, Mistress Xiao Long.”

 

Yang held up her hand. “I’ve been thinking about this. My title, I mean. Call me Stardust.”

 

“Interesting,” Tatara said. “Why this as your name?”

 

“My name means Sun,” Yang said, looking into the sky at her namesake. “But, everything about my past life is shattered now. Even my name, it’s dust. Stardust.” She closed her eyes, grinning a mile wide. “Plus, it sounds sick.”

 

Tatara chuckled. “As you wish. Come, Mistress Stardust. We’ve much lumber to collect.”

 

*****

 

**SEVEN MONTHS SINCE ARRIVING AT THE ONI TOWER**

 

“I am impressed,” Tatara said, watching Yang at her workbench on her floor of the Tower. “I didn’t think you’d take to leatherwork this well.”

 

“Well, I needed another coat,” Yang said, delicately stitching with one hand, “because let’s face it, there’s not a garment on Remnant that could have survived what you put me through.” She bit the string off, her work finally done. “Plus, I think it came out great.” She took the coat, and put it on. Immediately, she felt tearing, before the sleeves exploded off her arms the second she tried to move them. She chuckled, looking in the mirror. While Tatara’s claims of the body altering had been no joke, she didn’t expect  _ this _ . She had grown at least 3 inches, her shoulders broadening alongside her height. Her arms looked more like tree trunks after she took the shredded sleeves off them, and her abdomen was bulky and cut, able to withstand her strength. Her new coat was a simple hooded leather longcoat, black with yellow highlighting along the edges and with buttons along the opening. She decided she liked the exploded-off sleeves look more, showing her sculpted arms and shoulders more, and thinking the blown-out openings looked badass. She only wore wrappings around her chest, the rest of her clothes tearing away long before, with nothing Tatara had standing up to her overwhelming body heat other than medical bandages made for such a feat, or leather treated for the temperatures. Thankfully, her pants were a different story, baggy gi pants worn with simple wooden sandals she’d whittled herself. She smiled at her reflection, but sombered at the final alteration that had to be made.

 

“You’re sure of this?” Tatara asked.

 

Yang nodded, looking at her still burning hair. “The most critical part of the plan is the first part, but the problem is me being seen. There’s no doubt I’m being hunted, probably as a missing person. My hair is the most distinctive thing about me, so if it’s gone, I’m gone, and the plan goes off without a hitch.” She looked at it one last time, before handing the razor from her desk to Tatara. “The shorter the better.”

 

Tatara nodded, and got to work. It took seemingly more than an hour, but after a long while, he brought the razor away from her head. “It’s finished, though I tried to leave you something.”

 

Yang opened her eyes, looking at the mirror again. The sides and back of her head were shaved nearly all the way down, leaving enough hair to be visible, but not enough to brush or do anything with. The top of her head was longer, lying scattered all over her head. With a little bit of brushing, it was cleaned up, Yang sated with her new haircut. “Thanks, Tatara.” She said, before turning and heading for the door.

 

The two reached the front door, and stood on the temple’s front step for a moment. Yang put her hood up, the coat flapping behind her in the wind. “Looks like this is goodbye, old man.”

 

Tatara nodded. “I have nothing more to teach you, Mistress Stardust. You have not just matched me, you have surpassed me, even with your disability.”

 

“Just wait ‘til I find an engineer that can make something that can stand to my strength,” Yang said, clenching her fist. She turned to him, and bowed shortly. “It has been an honour, Master Tatara.”

 

Tatara returned the gesture. “And it has been and honour teaching you, Mistress Stardust.” They rose, and made eye contact.

 

“I gotta ask,” Yang said, “and this may seem weird as a last minute question, but…  _ why _ ? Why teach me?”

 

Tatara laughed. “Because, Yang,” he said, surprising Yang with the use of her actual name, “the world needs people strong enough to change it if it needs it.” He looked out toward the horizon, the rising sun becoming visible. “And right now, it does. I may not know what’s going on down there, but I feel it.”

 

Yang nodded. “I dunno about changing the world, but I’m taking  _ my _ world back. If that changes it, good side benefit.”

 

Tatara chuckled. “Go then. Claim your destiny, Stardust.”

 

Yang began her walk away, waving at Tatara over her shoulder one last time as she descended. With eyes of crimson and a wicked grin, Yang ran through the first part of her plan. Once she got back to Vale, she would pay an old friend a visit, and that would set everything in motion.

  
Plus, she’d  _ kill _ for a strawberry sunrise right now anyway.


	4. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang returns to Vale, and sets her plan of vengeance in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Sorry for the gap in updates, school's kicked back up, and I decided to tackle one of my major projects in the first week to get it over with. But regardless, here's the chapter, I hope you enjoy.

**VALE CITY RUINS**

 

**6:44 PM**

 

**14 MONTHS AFTER THE FALL OF BEACON**

 

Yang had been right to assume she would be hunted. Her father  _ was _ a man with as much abandonment issues as her. Well, maybe not  _ as _ much, but a damned close second. There was quite the bounty on information about her whereabouts. As she’d expected though, her change of appearance helped. She’d checked herself; the details on the bounty listed her as a medium build, 5’8” woman with a bionic arm, long blonde hair, and violet eyes. Her time at the Oni Tower had not only taken care of her eyes and build, but even her height as well, not to mention losing her arm, _again_. Her new haircut was self explanatory, but she still considered dying it. She’d found her semblance was nigh impossible to turn off now, and her hair always softly glowed. It wasn’t very noticeable while her hood was up, but it was just another thing drawing attention. 

 

Granted, tonight was the night, so she figured she’d hold onto it for now. It’s too late to worry about attention after today.

 

When Yang arrived in Vale, she was surprised to see that Beacon had been largely untouched and quartered off. It was apparently being sectioned off, along with the still ruined part of town, as something of a memorial area called the “Beacon District”. Vale doesn’t have the money to fix anything, and Goodwitch’s magic can only do so much. Turning the ruined city, and most notably the ruined school, into a memoriam was a good short term solution. It certainly made Yang’s job easier, with her new appearance and attire, she blended in with the vagrants that occupied the Beacon District, and she was able easily to make it to her first destination immediately upon arriving; Beacon’s ruins themselves.

 

The place itself was completely deserted, the occasional Grimm still present on the ground. Tatara hadn’t been kidding; Yang was like, ironically, a beacon to them, and the few on the ruined campus rushed her on sight. Still, Yang’s training hadn’t been for nothing, and the fact that single punches reduced the beowulves and ursai into giblets was proof of that. Still, she had something to find there. A short trek to what was once the cafeteria brought her to it. Sitting there, discarded and rotten, was her right arm. The flesh was dried out at this point, but it looked fused onto the ground, and more importantly, to the second half of Ember Celica. Her one half she had left was on her cybernetic arm, which was lying somewhere in Mistral, and she figured if she only needed one half, going with the closer one was the easier bet. She picked it up, shaking the arm out of the bracer, and taking it over to a nearby pool of water to wash off the remaining chunks that had stuck to it. There were even still eleven dust rounds still in the chamber, the only shot having been discharged was the one that had sent her to her doom.

 

Yang shook her head, knowing it was best not to think about that right now. What she  _ did _ think about, however, was where she knew more ammunition was. The question was if she was strong enough to go there.

 

A short walk up a scorched staircase to the first year dormitories proved she wasn’t.

 

The dorms had been largely untouched by the attack, but Yang didn’t care about any room but one. She found her old room, and tried the door. When the lock was stubborn, she resolved to tearing the door from its hinges and tossing it aside. The room, save for the dust covering everything, was just as she remembered it. Impacts had jostled a few things, but by some miracle, their makeshift bunk beds remained upright. It took Yang everything she had to step in, but when she did, emotions she had nearly forgotten about overwhelmed her. She swore that she could hear Weiss trying to work, and Ruby bugging her at every turn, trying to get her to smile. She imagine herself making some pun, and then hearing a groan from…  _ her _ . Her mood immediately darkened, and she moved toward the closet, to get what she came for. Her realization of her mistake was immediate; hanging to one side of her clothes were all of her belts of shells, but on the other side, was  _ her _ old outfit, a spool of black ribbon on the top shelf.

 

She was still in her head. No matter how hard she ran, how hard  _ Yang _ ran, there wasn’t anything she could do to keep pretending. Yang still loved her. She still loved Blake. That was the only thing that hurt anymore, after Tatara taught her to master her anger. She wasn’t mad at Blake, not anymore. Yang was furious with herself. Furious for being so stupid as to throw herself away like that. Stupid enough to think Blake wouldn’t abandon her.

 

Stupid enough to not tell Blake how she felt.

 

Yang caught a glimpse of herself in the dusty mirror. The bandages around her stump had fallen off some time ago, the grisly scar tissue visible again. Fury in her movement, she grabbed the spool of ribbon off the shelf, and looked at the brand. Blake hadn’t spared any expense, this stuff was dust-infused, basically indestructible. Perfect if you don’t want it getting torn apart when it’s masking your identity. Or, in Yang’s case, burning off from your overwhelming semblance. She wound the ribbon around her wound like her father had shown her to, with a small bow to the side. Something of a reminder, she thought. Something to remind her of why that arm isn’t there anymore. 

 

Yang looked toward the bed, and towards the setting sun. She kicked off her sandals, and climbed into her old bunk. Sleep came quickly, and was uneventful. She was glad, the fear of nightmares induced by the location having crossed her mind. She woke in the middle of the night, and she hopped from the bed, before moving out from the school. She had her weapon again, the bracelet clasped around her left arm. She didn’t look back as she walked from Beacon’s corpse, and out of the ruined district altogether. She had a job to do downtown, and it was just about happy hour anyway.

 

*****

Even after more than a year, Yang’s favourite club wasn’t hard to find at this time of night. The loud, pulsing music rang out for at least a block in every direction, and the gaudy spotlights the owner put up made it clear where the joint was. Yang stepped off the bus, thankful for public transportation before walking up to the club, and taking in the pulsing music again. She shoved open the double doors, half expecting an entire legion of gunmen to be pointing their firearms at her again. Thankfully, her change of appearance paid off, the only looks she seemed to be getting being looks of confusion at her attire. She walked to the bar, her sandals clacking against the lighted floor as she sat down at a barstool. The gruff bartender walked up to her, polishing a glass. He looked the same as Yang remembered; same cheap suit, same shitty haircut, same beard.

 

“What can I get you?” he asked, not paying much attention to who was sitting there.

 

Yang grinned. “Strawberry Sunrise. No ice. Oh, and one of those little umbrella things.”

 

The bartender began mixing the drink, until he put the pieces together and did a double take. “Blondie?” he said, making Yang’s grin deepen.

 

Yang met his gaze. “Howdy, Junior. Miss me?”

 

“That’s a word for it, you’re the only way I can get rid of the crap that goes in this thing,” Junior said with a smile, sliding the drink toward her.  Yang slammed the drink, the familiar flavour washing over her. “Anything else?” he asked.

 

“Got any sake in this joint?”

 

“Huh, you just keep clearing out my inventory of niche stuff.” He pulled out another bottle, and poured the clear liquid into another glass. He slid it to Yang. “You know… this may sound weird coming from me, but I did have my boys look for you when you went missing.”

 

“Aww, the big bear has a heart,” Yang said. “Of course, you know the fact that I’m here and not home means I’m still ‘missing’” she said, using air quotes.

 

“I’m no rat, Blondie.”

 

“I didn’t figure you for one. At least not unless your dick’s in a vicegrip.” They both managed a chuckle. “Still, why look for me? The money?”

 

“Hardly, what Taiyang offered for you I make in a day.” Junior sighed. “Just… there’s something different about it when the kid on the milk carton’s someone you know, ok?”

 

“I understand,” Yang said, finishing her sake. “Huh, not bad for Vale made. You ever had the shit they make in Mistral?” Junior shook his head. “Ah well,” Yang continued. “I’m guessing you know I’m not here for drinks and catching up.”

 

“You never are, are you?” Junior asked, fear beginning to show on his face.

 

Yang looked him in the eye, her face becoming stone. “I want it. The underworld, the life you lead. I want it.”

 

“You want in with me and my boys?” Junior asked, looking around. “You know, it ain’t as easy as you think it is.”

 

“I think it is, because you may have misunderstood me.” Yang stood up, and Junior realized how  _ massive  _ Yang had become, his fear deepening. “I don’t want  _ a _ criminal life. I want  _ yours _ .” She used her one hand, and grasped Junior by the throat, hoisting him into the air.

 

“Wait, wait! I’ll… I’ll pay you!”

 

“All you care about is  _ money _ ,” Yang said. “You’re all criminals for nothing but your own self centered avarice. If you’re gonna pick a sin to corrupt yourself with, pick one with an endgame. All greed does is spiral out of control, one way or the other. Greed kills you. Wrath, now  _ that _ gets shit done.”

 

“What… What do you want from me?” Junior stammered, reaching behind his back.

 

“Everything.” Yang said. “I have plans, and those plans need funds, and extra hands.” She waggled her stump. “In a few ways. You can give me both of those things.”

 

“We were…  _ partners!  _ I gave you all I could!”

 

“You helped with my old goal. Then, you helped Torchwick burn half of Vale, willing or not. Now, you’ll help with my goals, willing or not.” She brought him closer, their faces mere inches from each other. “Tell your men they work for me now.”

 

“How about  _ this _ !” Junior pulled his hand from behind his back, a gun in the hand. He stuck the barrel against Yang’s temple, and pulled the trigger. He knew her aura was down, he wasn’t a novice, he could sense it. But when he saw what’d happened, his jaw hung open.

 

Yang picked the flattened bullet off her temple, the welt on her skin stinging softly. She looked around, seeing bouncers trembling at the display, and regular patrons barreling for the doors. “That wasn’t very nice of you to do to your boss, Junior.”

 

“What… What are you?”

 

“I’m the owner of this club, and the boss of your gang,” she said, tossing him back to the ground. “ _ My _ gang.” She walked over to a microphone Junior kept at his bar to announce things like last call, and turned it on, testing it a few time. “Hey, what’s up everyone?” She asked the remaining gang members in the club. “So, I’m sure any of you in here saw what just went down, considering you probably had guns trained on me the moment I picked up your…  _ former _ boss. See, what this is is a good old fashioned hostile takeover. You people work for me now. Name’s Stardust, pleased to meet ya.” She walked to the center of the room, looking around. “Now, as with any big change, I imagine there’s a few who are against it. You guys, come forward now.” No one moved a muscle. “Really?” Yang said. “Shit, I was kinda expecting to have to make a show of someone. Good on you guys for knowing better. You must be the smart ones.” She shook her head. “Now, there’s some…  _ restructuring _ that needs to be done. You’ll all keep doing what you were doing, but no kids, with anything. No dealing, recruiting, leverage, nothing. We’re better than that.” Yang sighed. “Look around, boys. Vale’s rotting. Half the city’s still smoldering over a year later and they… the Huntsmen, aren’t doing shit. I should know, I used to be one of those, kinda. Police are incompetent, they couldn’t stop a beowulf, much less rebuild the city. So it falls to us. The underworld. The white knights are all tucked away in their castles, afraid of the scary monsters ravaging the kingdom. So we have to step in, the thing the knights were sworn to kill in the first place. We’re the Dragons, here to take the world the knights abandoned.” Yang grinned. “You all start tomorrow. Go home, wherever that is for you all. Get some rest. Tomorrow, we get to work.”

 

She turned and walked back to the bar, replacing the microphone. Junior looked up in fear at her glowing hair under her hood, and her burning eyes. “Are you gonna kill me now?”

 

“No,” Yang said with a chuckle. “No, you’re important. See, you were the boss here for some time. And I know you criminals stick together. The phrase ‘thick as thieves’ didn’t come from nowhere. No, see you have something I lack.  _ Connections _ .” She tossed him the phone next to the register. “Make a call.”

 

“To who?”

 

“I’ve fought your boys more than once, Junior,” Yang said. “You’ve got top of the line tech, all customs. And forgive me when I day you don’t really look like an advanced weaponsmith.”

 

Junior sighed. “I know a guy.”

 

“Good. Make the call.” Yang said. “I need some  _ arm _ aments.”

 

Junior paused the dialing. “That’s gonna be a regular thing, isn’t it?”

 

“Yep.”

  
Junior sighed as Yang snickered.Today marked an important beginning. After today, the plans were set in motion. She just needed to get back to 100 percent first.  _ No, 100% means back to where I was _ , she thought.  _ 100 percent can go fuck itself. It’s time to shift into overdrive. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, bet you thought the major character death was here eh? Don't worry, it's coming.
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated, and I hope to see you all again next time!


	5. The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang gains a new ally, and makes a new enemy.

**VALE - BEACON DISTRICT**

 

**5:00 PM**

 

**15 MONTHS AFTER THE FALL OF BEACON**

 

Yang walked up to one of the many ruined buildings in the Beacon District, double checking to ensure it was the right one. Her directions were vague; arrive at the building in the Beacon district with “Wonderland” graffitied on the door, enter at precisely 5 PM, then put a code into the elevator. Junior had told her deviation from that would be met with, in his own words, “paranoid defenses that makes General Ironwood look brave”. Worst case scenario, she had to deal with some goons, she figured. It’s not like it was a new occurrence.

 

This weaponsmith of Junior’s had taken their sweet time in replying to Yang’s requests after submitting her designs, and even then they only beckoned her to their workshop to meet. Junior had said this was a new thing; his orders arrived in the mail, he’d never even met the famed “Inaba” he’d been buying from. She may be new to the whole organized crime gig, but Yang knew that this was fishy.

 

Yang used the time to size up her newfound followers and territory. The power vacuum left by Torchwick’s death and the White Fang’s representation leaving the city soon after lead to Junior’s organization(which Yang had found out was called the Shannon Crime Family. It was apparently Junior’s middle name) taking hold of much of the area surrounding their base of operations, being the bar Junior owned under one of his many aliases. Yang had restructured some of the gang’s activities, with a strict policy on not harming children, and a priority on control. Her goal was to have the Dragons incite another gang into large scale war, and getting the Huntsmen involved. The Dragons, and most other gangs of their calibre, were far above the normal police’s paygrade, with a stable of huntsman-tier fighters ready to defend their turf. A full scale war would draw the eye of the Hunt, which is exactly what Yang needed to really get her plan rolling.

 

Well, that was the long term. The  _ short _ term was getting her damned arm replaced.

 

Yang entered the building, the room lit by a single, hanging lightbulb that turned on as she entered. She saw an elevator with a numpad at the end of the small room, but it was otherwise barren, plain white walls and a dirty linoleum floor devoid of anything. She walked over to the elevator, and punched in the code, 11037. Immediately, the doors opened with a soft  _ ding _ , revealing a much more well kept elevator, the plain stainless steel polished and shining. She entered the elevator, and found there were no buttons on the console. The doors merely slid shut, and the elevator began its descent. 

 

_ Well, _ Yang thought,  _ this could be an excellent opportunity to see how well my demonic rage powers handle being dropped like a sack of puppies into the depths of the earth. _

 

Much to her relief, the elevator made its way down, and opened with another soft  _ ding _ . Yang walked out, and looked around the subterranean area. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting from one of the most infamous black market arms dealers in the Kingdom, but it certainly wasn’t what she saw. The area was one, single long corridor that had been made into a room, and its decor seemed to gradient as it extended. The first half coming from the elevator was rather poshly decorated, soft-looking carpet complimenting pastel walls and ornate looking furniture. As the room extended backward, the carpet gave way to hard concrete that was cracked and stained, with at least half a dozen tables covered in various tools and weapons-both whole and in pieces- lining the walls. Wall mounted racks housed even more of both, with everything Yang could imagine and more. At the back of the room hung a large, blue flag, with an emblem of a white wolf’s head enclosed in a circle. Yang decided that icon looked eerily familiar.

 

“Yes, that is a White Fang flag.”

 

Yang jumped at the sudden voice, immediately dropping into a combat stance. She looked around, seeing nothing.

 

“Where are you?” she shouted, angry that she may have been tricked.

 

“Oh, forgot about that, sorry.” Yang heard a series of beeps, and, seeming out of thin air, a short, old man materialized. He couldn’t have been more than 5 feet tall, with a white dress shirt and rolled up sleeves, along with simple slacks. He was standing with the aid of a cane, and was fussing with a device around his wrist. The things that caught Yang’s eye, however, where the snow white rabbit ears that laid back against his thinning white hair. “Apologies. Been working on an active camouflage device, sometimes I forget I left it on. Welcome.”

 

“You must be Inaba,” Yang said. “I’m-”

 

“I know who you are, Stardust, no one else had the code to get in here,” the man said. Yang noted his thick accent, which she swore she remembered from somewhere. “You’ve strayed quite far from Beacon, miss Xiao Long.”

 

Yang’s eyes bulged. “How did you know my name?”

 

Inaba chuckled. “My granddaughter spoke of you too highly for a change in eyes and hairstyle to make me not recognize you.”

 

“Granddaughter?”

 

Inaba held out his hand. “I suppose I should start being a bit more straightforward. My name is Peter Scarlatina.”

 

Yang took his hand, but paused. “Scarlatina… you’re Velvet’s Grandfather?”

 

Peter nodded. “I suppose you’ve got some questions. I’ve got some finishing touches to do on your new arm, so we could talk over that. Come on,” he said, leading her to the back workbench, right under the flag.

 

“Why does it look so different?” Yang asked, unable to stop looking at it. She found that her stump was beginning to ache.

 

“This is the  _ real _ White Fang flag, the one from when they meant something.” He gathered some tools, and began working on the prosthetic on his bench. “Before that madwoman Khan took over, we actually stood for something. Peaceful protesting, negotiations. Equality. We were bloody close too, maybe another decade, and we’d’ve been at the same table. Then Ghira stepped down.”

 

“Ghira?” Yang asked.

 

“The original leader of the Fang. He was the best of us, there’s a reason he caught Kali’s eye.” Peter chuckled. “I used to joke that she’d drag him to the damn altar if she had to. Regardless, once he had his daughter, he stepped down, and left Khan in charge. She’s the one who changed everything. Even the damn flag.”

 

“So Beacon was her fault?” Yang asked.

 

“No, not from what I’ve heard. As much of a crazy bird Khan is, that Taurus boy makes her look like a child.” Peter grunted as he tightened something, then sighed. “The boy was mad and corruptible. Whoever was the mastermind to it, they let him off the leash. There’s no way it was simple terror, they wanted something. They used that sect of the Fang as a mere distraction. From the fact that the Hunt’s given up on everything, I’d bet they got it.”

 

“So you left?” Yang asked, wanting to make sure he was someone to trust.

 

Peter nodded. “When Ghira was in charge, he had me working on enginieering and medical technology. You think those furless bastards in Mantle developed prosthetics? That was  _ me _ . They reverse engineered their prototypes off the corpses of my friends they killed.”

 

“Fuck…” Yang said under her breath.

 

“You can say that again.” Peter said, sighing again. “When Khan took over, she saw my notes on medicine. And, when she radicalized the Fang, she wanted me to make chemical weapons. When I refused, she tried to have me killed. Me and my daughter left after that. She had Velvet with a kind Human boy after a few years. We’re still talking whenever I’m not cooped up here.”

 

Yang softened somewhat. “I’m glad you’re not with them. They’re responsible for a lot of what happened, to the Kingdom, to me, to…”  _ To her _ , she thought. “Wait, why didn’t they chase you?”

 

“Faked our deaths, naturally. You think Scarlatina’s my original name? They’re convinced their hit worked, so we can live in peace. I lay low just to be sure, I do have trade secrets to protect after all,” he said, before reaching behind something on his desk. “See, those Mantle shitheads haven’t been able to make tech half as good as mine, because they can’t get  _ this _ .” He pulled out a Dust Crystal, one a shade of violet Yang had never seen before. He tossed it to her, and she caught it with ease. “Try and manipulate that.” 

 

Yang concentrated on it as she would other kinds of Dust, but found that she couldn’t do anything to it. “What is this stuff? Is it even Dust?”

 

Peter chuckled. “This is Royal Purple Dust, and it’s the rarest substance on Remnant, and to my knowledge, it doesn’t exist naturally. There’s a handful of people who can create it with their semblances, but they all do it differently. My daughter Leona is one of ‘em. She just manifests the stuff out of thin air. Thing is, only she can use it. To you, me, and everyone else, it’s just a pretty rock.”

 

“So why do you need it?”

 

“There’s the rub. See, we can’t use it like we would other types of Dust, but machines powered by Dust use different types of reactions. And those happen to work with it.” He took the crystal, and placed it inside the prosthetic. “Royal Purple Dust puts out a stupid amount of power. A crystal this size could power all of Vale for a few hours. Or,” He snapped the last panel shut, and slid the arm over to Yang. “It can power this prosthetic for a long, long time.” 

 

Yang looked at the arm, marveling at the design. The metal was a deep black, and the forearm was covered with several pointed spikes that would serve as swordbreaker studs. The fingers were clawed, a suggestion she offered as something of a joke, but loved as she saw it in person. She picked it up, and snapped it onto her arm, the systems in the connection area similar to her last one in that it would automatically sync to her body without the need for surgery. She gave it a second, then moved her new arm, a smile forming on her face. “It doesn’t run on aura?” she finally said. 

 

“To meet the power requirements you sent, if it powered itself fully on your aura, it’d drain even you dry in minutes.” Peter said, pulling out his scroll and opening a blueprint of the device. “The base motor functions pull from your aura to power it, so even if the crystal’s out of juice, you’ll still have the basics of someone of above average strength. You want to fight, you simply think about it, and the machine will begin to pull power from the crystal to power the advanced hydraulics and shock absorbers. Metal’s an alloy I invented for joint replacements that ended up being too expensive to warrant its near indestructibility. And then there’s the big thing, the Overclocking.”

 

“Overclocking?”

 

“There’s systems in there that’ll allow you to increase the energy consumption in favour of some experimental systems. The full rundown’s in the file, but the big one’s the one I’ve taken to calling the Shooting Quasar.”

 

“That’s a bit… wordy,” Yang said.

 

“Can it,” Peter said, before continuing. “The Quasar puts the entire crystal’s charge into one short range pulse. Since it has to be converted into power, the pulse is electrical, and is powerful enough to shatter auras of fully trained Huntsmen. I tend not to dwell on what it’d do to someone without aura. One full crystal’s the equivalent of being struck by ten lightning bolts at once.”

 

“Wow…”

 

“Yeah, she’s my best work, I feel. You got a name in mind?”

 

“Not yet,” Yang said. “That’ll come though, I feel it. What about the other things?”

 

“Ah yes,” Peter said, searching over his desk. “The weapons themselves are still in development, but I did whip this up after an idea struck me.” He pulled out a helmet, the outer shell styled to resemble the skull of a dragon, with openings for eyes and jagged teeth. He tossed it to Yang, who turned it around in her hands. “Put it on.”

 

Yang did so, and and noticed numbers beginning to appear. A faint 100 appeared next to Peter’s head, and there was another 100 over the words “Crystal Energy”. “What the…” Yang started, before jumping again, her voice sounding so heavily filtered she couldn’t even recognize it as a woman’s, let alone hers.

 

“It’s a little something I thought of.” Peter said, beaming. “Its Heads Up Display will automatically read and display aura percentages of people in your field of vision with it active. I’ll also sync up with your arm’s power supply, and with your weapons once they’re done.”

 

“And the voice?” Yang asked, growing fonder of the filter the more she heard it.

 

“Helps with the anonymity angle. The mask itself is made of the same material as the arm, just try not to get shot in the eyes. The mouthplate can also open if you wanna eat while wearing it, though that will disable the filter.”

 

“It’s great,” Yang said. “Add it to the bill.” Yang paused. “What… do I owe you, anyway?”

 

“I don’t deal in cash,” Peter said, “I deal in favours. And I have one in mind.”

 

“Oh?” Yang asked, intrigued.

 

“I want in.” Peter said. “I want into the Dragons.”

 

Yang was surprised, but smiled. “Why for? You seem to have a pretty good racket going on.”

 

“Yeah, but I know where your path is going.” Peter said, nodding towards the flag. “And we’re trying to get the same thing. I wanna help you take down Kahn, take down the Fang. It's the only way we’re ever gonna get equality.”

 

Yang stuck out her hand. “If you’ll work with me, then it won’t be trying anymore. We’ll take the Fang down, Taurus, Kahn, all of them.”

 

Peter took her hand, his handshake surprisingly firm for someone of his age. “Just don’t think I’m gonna be just a mechanic.”

 

“Oh?” Yang asked.

 

“You don’t get to be 95 as a faunus without some experience.” Peter grinned. “I wont just use tools, I’ll be the biggest power tool you’ve got. Tactically, at least, I am fuckin’ 95.”

 

Yang laughed. “Power Tool… I like that.” She turned to the door. “C’mon. I’ll get some boys to move this stuff to the bar. You’ve got a family to meet, Power Tool.”

 

Peter sighed. “That’s my name now, is it?”

 

“Yep,” Yang said. “Hope you like it, cause I just called you that to Junior in the message.”

 

Peter sighed, chuckling as he followed Yang out of the room.

 

*****

 

**2 MONTHS AFTER THE FORMATION OF THE DRAGONS CRIME SYNDICATE**

 

“Yo boss, you may wanna look at this.”

 

Yang looked up, the goon standing in the door of her office holding a photo. She had taken to wearing her mask all the time, enjoying the reactions it got from even her own people. It made her feel more monstrous, stronger somehow. “What do you got?” she said, grinning at the face her worker made at the filtered voice.

 

“That hit you put out worked,” he stammered, placing the photo on Yang’s desk, being of a woman shot to death. “Going after Rasca’s wife drug him outta hiding. He’s got the whole Immortals gang, they’re marching on the club, the entire Kingdom’s reporting on it.”

 

“Perfect,” Yang said, standing up and pulling her hood up. “Sound the alarm. It’s time to go to war, uh…”

 

“Shun.”

 

“Yeah, Shun. Gather the others, we better get moving.”

 

A she neared the door, Shun spoke up again. “I gotta ask, why go for his family?”

 

Yang stopped short of the door. “Nothing makes someone angrier than losing the thing you love most.”

 

Yang walked downstairs to the main bar area, and found that the gang was already assembled. She met Junior at the bar, his bat resting on his shoulder. “You really pissed them off, Boss.” Junior said. “This is an all out war, everyone’s talking about it.”

 

“I happen to know a thing or two about anger.” Yang turned to the crowd, grabbing the bar mic again. “Alright, listen up!” The entire gang snapped their attention to her. “The entire Immortals gang is bearing down on us. They’re the biggest gang in Vale, and their leader Rasca isn’t to be considered anything less than dangerous.” Yang grinned. “But that’s not what tonight is about. I’ve sent an anonymous tip to the Hunt, and they’ve dispatched a single Huntsman to deal with the situation.” There were murmurs from the crowd, but Yang held up her hand. “Gang, what did I tell you that first day? The Hunt has nothing left. This is to prove it to them. The Immortals are a mere distraction. Our bounty is this Huntsman. We’ll prove to the the Hunt, no, the  _ Kingdom _ , that this town is ours!”

 

There was a cheer, and Yang replaced the mic before walking to the side. “You can hear me, right Power Tool?”

 

“ _ Yes, _ ” Peter said through her helmet’s internal headset, “ _ and before you ask, I’ve gotten into the city’s CCTV to track the Huntsman on his way.” _

 

“Good,” Yang said. “Got an ID?”

 

“ _ I’m cross referencing his weapons with the known database, _ ” Peter said. “ _ Looks like it’s… oh Gods… _ ”

 

“Who is it?” Yang asked, urgency in her voice as she led her gang out the door.

 

“ _ Fox Alistair _ ,” Peter said with a somber tone, “ _ He and the rest of Velvet’s team were given full Huntsmen licences for their performance during the Battle for Beacon. He’s reportedly one of their top performers, and he’s fought and beaten Rasca and the Immortals before _ .” He paused, feeling Yang do the same. “ _ Stard-... Yang, are you sure about this? _ ”

 

“Yes,” Yang said after a moment. She continued to stride forward through the street, leading her pack of goons. “The point of no return was a long time ago. The past isn’t something I can afford to make exceptions for. Not even for old friends.”

 

Peter sighed. “ _ Just… be careful. _ ”

 

“Don’t worry,” Yang said, before stopping at a 4-way intersection. At the other end stood a large band of armed men and women, with one standing at its head. “The fighting’s about to start. ETA on the target?”

 

“ _ He’s a few minutes out yet,”  _ Peter said. “ _ Rasca’s a pompous lil’ shit, get him talking _ .”

 

Yang looked over the Immortals, and found herself with a familiar feeling of disdain. She hated their uniforms, gaudy fluorescent colours painted so that they glow in the darkness. They were apparently styled off of ancient lines carved into the ground somewhere in Vacuo, but Yang just thought they looked stupid. She walked forward, looking right at Rasca.

 

“If it isn’t the most hideous gang in Vale,” Yang said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“You know damn well why I’m here!” Rasca snarled. He reached behind his back, and placed twin shields on his arms, one that resembled the sun, and one the moon. “You show up out of nowhere, lurk in the shadows, and then just kill my wife?”

 

“To be fair, I didn’t kill her, I payed someone to do it,” Yang said. “It wasn’t even that much either.”

 

“Do you think this is some kind of  _ game? _ ” Rasca asked.

 

“No,” Yang said, “games are fun. This is just annoying.”

 

Rasca grunted, before grinning. “Look behind you. You have maybe sixty. I have three hundred loyal men and women, following their God!”

 

“Wait, you’re a cult?” Yang asked. “I thought you guys were just particularly into body paint. Vale really has gone down the tubes.”

 

“Be silent!” Rasca spat, getting into a low combat stance. “You will die tonight!”

 

“ _ Incoming _ ,” Peter said in Yang’s headset.

 

“Someone will,” Yang said, before a figure landed between them. He was clad in an orange jacket and black pants, spiky orange hair swaying softly in the wind. His darker skin was contrasted by his grey eyes, and he had two long, curved orange blades extending from mechanisms on his wrists. After the dust kicked up by his landing settled, he turned to the two gang leaders.

 

“Disperse,” he said. “You’re causing unrest.” He turned to Rasca, and intensified his glare. “We know how this fight goes.”

 

“Noone is going anywhere,” Yang spoke up, prompting Fox to turn to her.

 

“And who are you?” Fox asked. “I’d heard the Shannon Crime Family was under new management. That you?”

 

“Name’s Stardust, pleased to  _ beat _ you,” Yang said, stepping forward. “I speak for the Dragons Syndicate.”

 

“No matter, disperse,” Fox repeated. “You can ask your glow in the dark friend. Beating punks like you is my specialty.”

 

Junior began to step forward with Yang, but she held her hand out. “Nobody interferes, from either side,” She said. She felt her arm’s power roar to life, and raised her arms into her own combat stance. “He’s why we’re here. This is my fight.”

 

“Threatening a government official?” Fox said, assuming his own stance. “That’s a felony.”

 

Yang chuckled, dropping her stance and spreading her arms. “Then come arrest me.”

 

Fox shouted, running forward with a leaping kick to the side of Yang’s head. He’d sensed her aura wasn’t up, this kind of kick would knock her out cold. As he landed on his other foot, however, he found that not only was Stardust still standing, her head hadn’t even moved. “What…” he started, before Yang’s metal fist surged into his chest, sending him flying backward into the Immortals, knocking many of them to the ground. Yang surveyed the sea of now shocked faces, before Fox returned to his feet, his aura reading at a mere 56% after one strike.

 

Yang’s grin grew wicked, a fire in her belly that she had missed beginning to burn again. “I see the Hunt still hasn’t found its competency, even after Beacon.”

 

“Shut up!” Fox shouted. “What do you know about that day?” Fox brought the blades on his wrists forward, and spun them downward, making them resemble mantis claws. He swung both of them downward, but Yang caught them effortlessly.

 

“I know that that was the day I lost everything.” Yang clenched her metal hand, shattering the blade in it. As Fox recoiled the arm, she brought her’s forward, her fist landing square into Fox’s gut. “I lost everything because the Hunt was resting on its laurels, thinking it was invincible, so that when an actual threat came, it fell to  _ pieces _ !” Yang overclocked her arm, seeing the percentage meter in her helmet drain to 0 before a loud pulse shot from her arm. Fox’s aura audibly shattered, and he fell to his knees, his coughing bringing up blood. He looked up at Yang, fear in his eyes.

 

“What… what are you?” he asked, his breath ragged.

 

“I am Wrath, given form by the terror of that day. The consequences of the Hunt’s failures. The agent of vengeance towards all who wronged me that day.” Yang tore the bracer off of Fox’s arm, holding it like a sword. She kicked Fox in the head, his nose shattering against her heel as he tumbled backward. He staggered to his feet, raising his arms.

 

“You’re a monster,” he said, before charging her with one last desperate punch.

 

Yang felt her perception pause for a moment. She knew what she did here would resonate, not just outwardly, but inwardly for her. 

 

She realized she didn’t care anymore.

 

“Try a demon,” she said, before sidestepping the punch and plunging the blade into Fox’s chest to the hilt. She had intentionally missed his heart, and he staggered back, weakly trying to pull the blade out. Yang threw her arms outward, and began to shout to all. “This is what happens when the heroes fail! When the knights are all dead and gone! The Dragons retake the world!” She walked back up to Fox, and ripped the blade out of his chest, before quickly slashing through his neck. His corpse fell to the ground, his head rolling toward the now terrified Rasca. Yang walked up to him, blood splattered across the front of her jacket. “Still want that vengeance?”

 

Rasca fell to his knees. “Please don’t kill me!” he begged.

 

“Don’t worry,” Yang said, “you’re worth more to me in muscle.” She turned to the rest of the Immortals. “You want to take this city back? Then spread the word. The Dragons are taking it.” She gestured to Fox’s still bleeding body. “And that’s what happens to people who get in the way.”

 

She turned and walked away, and Junior ran up to her. “Are you insane?” he asked. “They’re gonna bear down on us now! We’re done for!”

 

“Relax,” Yang said. “I just took out one of their best and brightest fighters without any effort. Huntsmen are a very finite resource. They won’t send any more.” She turned to him. “And if they do, you’ve already seen how that’ll go.”

 

Junior stopped in his tracks, and watched Yang and the others walking away, wondering what he had gotten himself into.

 

*****

 

Yang returned to her office, and put the blade she’d killed fox with on one of the bookshelves. She sat down at her desk, and took off her mask. She looked up, and found Peter at the door, shutting it behind him. He took one of the seats that were on the opposite side of Yang. She noticed he had a large bottle of whiskey, that he sat on the desk.

 

“You holding up okay?” he asked, his tone less mocking than earlier.

 

“I’m fine,” Yang said.

 

“You don’t have to lie, kid.” Peter said. “I see it in those red eyes of yours. That was your first, wasn’t it?”

 

Yang hesitated, but nodded. “It was so… easy. There was one moment where I hesitated, but I killed him after it. His blood is still on my damn coat. He was my  _ friend _ before… this.” Yang sighed. “This really is the point of no return.”

 

Peter took some glasses from a nearby shelf, and poured them both a drink. “Then let’s dull the pain, and plan for tomorrow.” He managed a soft grin. “We’ve got lives to take back.”

 

Yang managed her own smile, taking the drink, and clinking it against Peter’s. “To our future.”

 

Peter nodded, and they both drank, talking and drinking the night away. When Peter finally left, Yang stood, and looked out her window. Her location wasn’t a big secret, and it had been hours since Fox’s death. In the old days, there would have been a stable of Huntsmen, ready to avenge their fallen friend.

 

Today, there was no one. 

  
_ No more heroes, _ Yang thought.  _ Just dead men and living cowards. It’s time for the next step. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering what Yang's filtered voice sounds like, look up voice samples of the character Urgot's latest incarnation from League of Legends. It basically sounds like that.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated, and I hope you continue to enjoy the work!


	6. The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang meets her match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated long and hard whether to split this chapter, but in reality I felt it was better as one. Enjoy the extra long chapter!
> 
> I'll also say this one gets pretty dark. Discretion is advised.

**DRAGONS SYNDICATE HEADQUARTERS**

 

**7:45 PM**

 

**2 YEARS SINCE THE FALL OF BEACON**

 

The 8 months after the murder of Fox Alistair had gone exactly as Yang had predicted. The media ate it up for a time, the ‘Hunt for Stardust” being the star show for the first few months. Yang even made sure to leave them scraps to fight over, making very public shows of certain raids on rival gangs or on heists of major establishments. The turning point came, as Yang predicted, with the Hunt. The part of the public that was horrified with her, rather than enamored, turned to the Hunt for answers. They maintained their stance of an ongoing investigation and that everything that could be done was being done, but Yang knew the Hunt was scared stiff. There hadn’t been so much as a single cop near the bar in the entire 8 months, let alone any Huntsmen. Yang was right, they knew it was suicide to try and fight her. They simply had to wait and pray something else took her out first.

 

Yang had taken to her job well; her goals of reducing petty crime in favour of territory control had been able to maintain profitability through acquisition of numerous other organizations under her banner. The Hunt and police wouldn’t dare tread in Dragons territory, so establishments in that area were more than willing to “patronize” the Dragons in turn for guarding against any other stray gangs. The result was something that baffled nearly everyone: crime was plummeting. Outside of a few large scale robberies early into the Dragons’ existence, the crime rate had been steadily going down as they gained purchase in Vale. Gangs that were assimilated in worked ‘clean’ crimes like collecting protection money, and generally only acted against rivals. Other organizations became far more timid, becoming inactive in the face of the Dragons. That the enormous crime wave in the year following the Fall had only been curbed by what could only be described as an actual supervillain appearing in Vale lowered public opinion, and therefore funding, of the Hunt to an all time low. They were weakened, and word of that would reach the deeper layers of Vale soon, awakening those that had wronged Yang.

 

In time, anyway. Yang knew it would take time, but  _ fuck _ was she bored. It had been more than a year since she’d had a good fight.

 

_ If I had known becoming the strongest woman in the world was this much of a monkey’s paw, _ Yang thought,  _ I might have hesitated a bit longer. _

 

In her boredom, she turned to her computer, and tuned to her favourite part of the job; managing her stake in the underground fight club.

 

Calling what she was managing a mere fight club was something of a disservice. The Kaiser Colosseum was an arena for fighters that were capable of fighting off Huntsman teams, fighting for the pleasure of the intensely wealthy that tuned into the fights, depicted on screens around the arena in favour of a traditional audience. The fights themselves were to broken aura, though deaths were frequent, either at the behest of heckling crowds or the bloodlust of a winner. Regardless, Yang’s organization, much like other criminal organizations across remnant, payed host to several fighters, sponsoring their way into the arena in return for cuts of the winnings and betting money from the wealthy audience. One of her fighters was set to fight now, against a no name fighter that had entered unsponsored. The “Red Daemon” had a few matches under his belt, but Yang was confident in her fighter, a man she really only knew as “Editor the Tamer”, a stag faunus with an electrified whip. 

 

As Red Daemon walked into the arena, Yang laughed out loud. The man was bulky, but of a somewhat shorter stature. He wore full armour over his chest and arms, with a powerful and red-glowing gauntlet on his right arm. He wore a mask of a scowling daemon, complete with curved horns. Most humorous of all, at least to Yang, was the red cape that flapped behind him as he walked. He looked like he was out of a cartoon. She figured the other spectators shared her idea, as the arena was full of laughter as Editor cracked his whip. Red Daemon seemed to revel in it, raising his arms and beckoning for more jeers. He raised his right arm, depressing a switch on the side of the gauntlet. As he did, a short, single handed blade shot into the air, and he caught the sword before twirling it in his left hand. The blade glowed a bright orange, giving Yang an eerie sense of deja vu. He pointed the blade at Editor, and the horn indicating the battle began. Yang had been told that the bets were close to 4:1 on Red Daemon. There was alot of cash riding on this fight.

 

A fight that would be over in seconds. 

 

Editor lashed his whip, and Red Daemon caught it without effort, yanking him to him. He went on the offensive, slashing with his short blade, which seemed to shred through Editor’s aura like it was paper. With a third, plunging strike reinforced with his hand on the pommel, he surged the blade’s tip into Editor’s chest, shoving the blade all the way in, before letting go. He turned to the crowd, raising his arms and taunting.

 

Yang leapt from her chair.

 

He returned to Editor, who struggled to pull the sword from his chest, effortlessly tearing the sword from his chest, before slashing cleanly through his neck. He took his sword, and pointed it directly at Yang’s monitor, the eyes of his mask locking with hers through the screen.

 

There was no mistake; this was a challenge.

 

Yang closed the viewing program, the cacophony of outrage at the upset becoming silent. The sudden ringing of her desk phone made her jump, but she picked it up.

 

“You got the boss,” she answered as normal.

 

“ _ You saw that bollocks right? _ ” Peter all but shouted into the phone.

 

“Yeah,” Yang said, “I did. Run a search. Dig up anything you can, and get back to me.”

 

“ _ Gotcha _ ,” Peter said, hanging up. 

 

Yang made another call, this time Junior picking up “What do you need, boss?”

 

“Get the Kaiser Colosseum on the horn,” Yang said. “We’re gonna put on a one night only special.”

 

*****

 

Yang walked into Peter’s lab, seeing the old man pouring what was certainly  _ not  _ his first whiskey of the evening, considering the amount left in the bottle. He absentmindedly sighed as she walked in, thumping his foot in frustration.

 

“What do you have?” she asked him.

 

“Nothing,” he replied.

 

“Nothing?”

 

“Jack  _ fuckin’  _ shit,” Peter slurred,  sighing again. “This guy’s a ghost. No mention of anyone like him before he showed up at the arena, and there’s no footage around of his other fights. The few eyewitnesses i could bribe into talkin’ said his fights went similarly to this one, but those were two-bit auraless chumps. Editor could take on entire Huntsman teams, and he went down with the same force.” He slammed his drink. “We’ve got nothing to work off but what we have here. No name, no other alias, not even his race. Fuck, saying  _ he _ is even presumptuous, really.”

 

“Well,” Yang said, “what  _ can _ we tell?”

 

Peter pulled up the video of the fight. “His tech in the gauntlet isn’t anything I recognize explicitly, but I can see it’s Atlas-styled, at least with the metals and dust-tech. It’s a custom for sure, probably self made due to the rough forge-job. Additionally, both of his hands, at the least, seem to by cybernetics.” He zoomed in on his hands, revealing each only had three fingers, the one in the gauntlet having long talons on the fingers. “This isn’t a case of amputation, those three fingers are as wide as your full 4. If his hands are cybernetics, I’d bet his arms are too. Not anything I made, though, I’d remember a 3 finger prosthetic.” He moved the focus to his sword, giving Yang a better look at it. The blade was a bright orange, and seemed to glow, almost as if it was aflame. The blade narrowed somewhat at the center, but widened back out near the tip. “The weapon’s a type of ancient Mantle-area sword called a Gladius. From the brief amount of action we saw, he’s clearly been classically trained, he wields the blade like a master. The sword itself looks to be a Dust alloy, flame dust fused into the metal during forging to give the sword the properties of the blade. It’s a process usually used in Mistrali swords, since their metal-folding style allows the dust to be very deliberately spread. With more western blades like this, it's a crapshoot, you have to just hope it works out. I’ve never seen one of this quality. Watch,” he said, unpausing the clip. Yang noticed that the blade wasn’t just slashing his aura, it was very cleanly slicing into his chest, even before the final plunging strike. 

 

Yang stood horrified, barely managing to keep herself composed. “I’ve… seen this type of sword before.”

 

“Where at?” Peter asked. Yang sarcastically waved her prosthetic in response. “Oh, sorry.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Yang said. “Regardless, my aura was damned tough when I used it traditionally, and it cleaved my entire arm clean off. Granted, it looked like the guy put everything he had into the strike, but the sword was still wicked dangerous.”

 

Peter nodded. “The blade’ll cut through aura like it’s butter. As for what it’ll do to you… how  _ do _ you even work?”

 

“My aura is channeled into my muscles rather than around it, increasing their density and self repair abilities. It’ll probably still cut me, but I’ll be able to heal the damage. My muscles should be dense enough to prevent it from getting too deep, but I should avoid that stabbing attack.” She raised her prosthetic, looking at the studded forearm. “I should be able to break it if I have to.”

 

“That could work,” Peter said. “Look just, be careful. This guy is very clearly targeting you specifically. He may have a vendetta or some other reason to take this  _ very _ seriously.”

 

Yang chuckled. “I’m the strongest woman in the world, Peter. There’s no one on Remnant that can do what you’re nervous about.”

 

Peter sighed. “You keep thinking that. Invincibility is a hell of a drug.” He turned back to the monitor. “Just don’t overdose.”

 

Yang opened her mouth, but said nothing. She turned and walked from the room, and toward the bar. Her mind lingered on Peter’s words.

 

She decided she needed something strong.

 

*****

 

Yang stood in an archway, looking outward toward her destination. Today was her match against the Red Daemon, and she was finally able to visit the Kaiser Colosseum in person. She’d found it was located near Mt. Glenn, of all places, and was a shorter trip than she’d anticipated. Regardless, the steel gate keeping her from entering did not prevent her from viewing in, and she was able to appreciate the colosseum in all its glory.

 

The stadium itself took after ancient Mantle architecture, the grand colosseum built from stone and full of detailed brickwork. The stands, however, were replaced with several large screens, on which greyed out portraits of viewers were shown. The viewers conversed through the speakers in the screens, some maintaining their anonymity while others announced who they were. Yang picked out the voices of the Fiendish Chains gang leader from Mistral, as well as a few of Atlas’ corrupt politicians. She was respected amongst these people, and was a well known name. This didn’t stop the betting, however; bettors were split, with some having faith in Stardust’s now-legendary strength, and others thinking that the Daemon would be the one to best her. Millions of lien were riding on this match, and Yang suspected enemies would be made today.

 

The gate slammed open, and Yang finally walked out into the spacious arena, around the size of the arena she fought Mercury in during the Vytal tournament. She walked towards the center of the arena, and saw her opponent. As she got a better look at him, she had to hold back her laughter. He was still clad in his armour, though his arms were definitely cybernetics now that she could see him up close. His gauntlet had pulsing orange lights along the forearm, which shone brightly as he crossed his arm in front of his chest before bowing. 

 

“My greetings,” he said, Yang noticing his voice was also filtered, though seemingly not as much as hers. He had something of a northern Atlas aristocratic accent, though it had an echo that made him sound, well, demonic. “My name is Kazakus Klay, though you may know me better as the Red Daemon. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Stardust.”

 

Yang couldn’t hold back her laughter, a loud guffaw escaping her mouth. “Wow,” she said. “That is easily way better than anything I could have come up with you sounding like.” She shook her head. “You made quite the spectacle of calling me out. What do you want from me?”

 

Red Daemon chuckled. “You are naught but a tool, a vessel with which I shall prove my superiority.” He made his right hand into a fist, his sword shooting into the air. He caught it in his left, twirling it around before pointing it at her. “It’s nothing personal. I simply have goals that require influence. Influence that killing you will earn.”

 

“Wow, there’s the boring part,” Yang said, her arm roaring to life as she assumed her combat stance. “You’re no different than all the other gang leaders who wanna take my head off.”

 

“Ah, but they do not share your goals, as I do,” Daemon said, making Yang raise an eyebrow under her mask. “You seek the rebuilding of Vale, and the destruction of the terrorists responsible for its downfall. I shall rid the world of their evil, and numerous others.” He lowered his sword. “Make no mistake, Stardust. My glorification is the answer to all your prayers.”

 

“Fucking hell, shut  _ up _ ,” Yang groaned. “You talk like a 10th grade poetry teacher standing on a desk ‘cause he thinks it makes him look cool.” She cracked her neck to the side, and sturdied her stance. “Raise your weapon.”

 

“Very well,” Daemon said, raising his sword and his gauntlet-clad fist.

 

“I’m not very fond of stuck up assholes like you,” Yang said. “You’re gonna endure one hell of a beating, if you make it out of this.”

 

“Endure it?” Daemon laughed, the sound piercing to Yang’s ears. “I shall  _ savour _ it.”

 

Yang lept forward, immediately attempting to strike with a surging right jab. A punch like this from her arm wouldn’t just hurt an average person, its force would be basically impossible to displace. Yang knew her strength wasn’t able to be stopped by anyone normal.

 

The caveat she hadn’t anticipated was that she’d ever fight someone as abnormal as her. 

 

Daemon used his gauntlet-clad hand to swat away Yang’s jab seemingly without effort. As Yang recoiled from both the strike and the surprise, he took that hand and grabbed the top of Yang’s head, slamming it into his knee before kicking her backward. Yang staggered, but remained on her feet. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the daze that was clouding her mind, when the realization hit her; that had hurt. It had actually hurt her. She looked up, seeing Daemon waiting for her to recover. It wasn’t just that he was the first person in nearly an entire year that had been able to hurt her, it was that he knew it. And that he was toying with her. Yang straightened her stance, and managed a chuckle.

 

“Here I thought that the whole Atlesian Royal Knight thing was an act,” Yang said. “You may be interesting after all.”

 

Red Daemon bowed shortly, his hand over his chest. “I aim to please, Miss Stardust.”

 

Yang ran at him again, this time feinting her strike at his head into a body blow. As he realized his parry wouldn’t be able to stop the strike, Daemon instinctively began to step back, but it was far too late. Yang’s strike made purchase, the impact audible to both parties. However, while Yang knew she’d landed the hit, Red Daemon wasn’t affected at all, seemingly stalwart in the face of an impact that would have sent an ordinary man barreling backward. Yang’s glance downward proved that he was no ordinary man. Stopping her fist from hitting his abdomen was a glowing red circle, ornately designed, almost resembling a snowflake-like rune.

 

No, Yang thought. That looked decidedly like a Glyph.

 

Yang lept back to avoid a slash from Daemon, the two staring eachother down. “Neat trick,” Yang said to him. “I’ve seen it before, though.”

 

Daemon chuckled. “I assure you, you have seen  _ nothing  _ like me.” Seeming to sense there was no point in hiding his abilities any longer, Daemon manifested a large Glyph behind him, leaping onto it before angling himself downward and launching himself at Yang. As he landed, he surged a quick hand through her guard, grabbing hold of her neck and hoisting her upward. A Glyph manifested behind him, and from it came several clawed, tendril like arms, lashing at Yang’s body until he tossed her backward. Yang rolled to her feet, throwing yet more punches that were blocked by Glyphs. 

 

_ His defense is strong, and his offense is capable of hurting me, _ Yang thought.  _ I need to end this fast. _

 

Daemon seemed to channel his gauntlet, the fist coating itself in flames before striking Yang in the head. As she stumbled backward, Daemon called up a Glyph behind her, that she stumbled into, the momentum-altering properties of the Glyph propelling her back into Daemon’s fist, which in turn knocked her back into the Glyph. Daemon then kicked her back into it, and when she bounced back, he spun, putting all his weight into a flaming haymaker punch. Yang flew backward with enough force to shatter the Glyph, landing flat on her back, her head swimming. Daemon leapt into the air, using a Glyph to propel himself downward in a lunging stab.

 

“ _ Every path has its end! _ ” He shouted, driving his blade to the hilt into the center of Yang’s chest. Yang’s eyes shot open, a pain laden gasp rising from her lungs, followed by a blood filled cough. “Yours is here,” Daemon said, standing up, leaving his blade in her chest. “Fret not. I shall put your affairs in order.”

 

“Like Hell you will,” Yang spat, rising to her feet. She grabbed onto the handle of the sword in her chest, and with a grunt, tore it out. Blood began to flow from her chest, but the wound quickly knit itself shut. Yang tossed the sword towards Red Daemon in a rather sarcastic demeanor.  “You dropped this.”

 

Daemon hastily grabbed his sword before taking a step back. “What… are you? That should have severed your aorta, there’s no way anyone could survive that unless they were…”

 

“A Demon,” Yang finished, before tossing her coat aside. Without the coat holding them in place, the slashed bandages around her chest fell free, the fresh, grisly scar in plain view. “Another scar, as if I didn’t have enough.” Yang slammed her fists together in front of her, and as she did, energy seemed to explode off her. She became enveloped in a red aura, and seemed to radiate raw strength. “You seem pretty adamant about proving yourself. You’ve got some fancy tricks, I’ll give you that.” Yang stomped her foot forward, assuming her combat stance. The ground shook with her footfall, a crater formed around the sole of her sandal. “Come at the Queen, though, and you’d better not miss.”

 

Daemon shouted, summoning a large Glyph on the floor around him. “You desire proof of my power? Then witness it!” He replaced his sword in his gauntlet, the flames around it intensifying as he struck the ground. As he did, the earth shook, and a piercing shriek filled the room as a nightmarish grimm-like spectre tore its way out of the Glyph. It’s body was red with Black highlights, the opposite of the norm. Its lower body was that of an entire, giant horse-sized grimm the size of a house. On top of its back, however was a form of what looked like a demon, a horned humanoid with the long, tendril like arms Yang had been struck with earlier. Daemon had merely summoned that part of it before, and how he called upon the whole beast. “Bear witness, and be consumed by the Red Nuckelavee!” 

 

The beast shrieked, lashing out with one of its arms. Yang ducked her head to the side, the clawed hand whizzing past her. It lashed with its other arm, and Yang raised her left, catching the limb by the wrist. With a roar, she yanked on the stretched arm, the entire, massive grimm being pulled toward her. Reeling back with her prosthetic arm, she launched a blow right as the beast would fall on her. The single strike’s force blew the revenant to pieces, the monster fading into nothingness all around them. Daemon took a few more fearful steps back. “That’s not possible... “

 

“I find that ‘Possible’ is wherever I decide to set the bar that day.” Yang began walking toward Red Daemon. “And we’re not even playing limbo yet, boy.”

 

Daemon grunted. “I will  _ not  _  be made a fool of again!” He ran forward, and with all his might, struck with his gauntlet at Yang. “ _ Absolute Powerforce! _ ” he shouted, as the billowing fire of a fist made purchased against Yang. To his dismay, however, she had caught the blow in her left, organic hand.

 

“Oh, you name your attacks. Cute,” Yang said, before crushing his hand in her grip. Daemon recoiled with a scream of pain, surprising Yang.  _ Why is he hurt if it’s cybernetics? _ She thought. Without thinking too much about it. Yang struck with her right hand. A Glyph rose to block her, but it shattered against her fist without any effect of even slowing her. Her fist struck his abdomen, and with a thought, overclocked, the raw electricity bursting from her arm with a  _ crack _ . Daemon grunted, before falling to the ground, unconscious and beaten. 

 

Yang stood over him, breathing heavily. She raised her arm to strike him down, but paused. She stood there for a moment, before sighing.  _ I’m getting soft _ , she thought, retrieving her coat before carrying Daemon from the arena, to the jeers of the spectators. 

 

*****

 

Yang sat in the infirmary of the Dragons’ headquarters, fucking around on her scroll while waiting for her patient to wake up. She looked at him, and sighed. She didn’t think she’d hit him  _ that _ hard.

 

Getting Red Daemon back into Vale wasn’t as hard as she’d thought. Really, no one wanted to fuck with her after the display she’d put on, so she pretty much walked right out and back to the bar. The harder part was repairing his hand. After Peter and her had looked closer, it turns out he wasn’t using cybernetics. Rather, he seemed to be wearing some type of armour, woven into his arms and torso like a replacement skin. Not even Peter could make heads or tails of it; the tech was something entirely foreign to him. Regardless, it had meant that his hand was flesh and blood, and that Yang had splintered every bone in it, along with a few ribs. The Dragons’ few doctors set the bones, and administered Aura boosters to help him heal. It would be a matter of days, rather than weeks. The whole process hadn’t taken long, but it did mandate sedation, sedation that Yang was now waiting to wear off. She had questions, and a sleeping man wouldn’t give her any. 

 

Though, she admitted the oxygen mask taped to the vent of the mask they couldn’t for the life of them find a way to remove, even after finding ways to move the plates on his abdomen.

 

Yang looked up when she heard stirring, and found Red Daemon beginning to sit up. He looked around, before seeing Yang sitting at the end of the small room. He immediately bolted upright, but soon regretted it, a shout of pain escaping his lips.

 

“Easy,” Yang said, standing up. “You’ve got three busted ribs. Lie back down.”

 

Daemon didn’t lie back down, gaze unmoving from Yang. “Where am I?” he asked, his voice the same as before, but with more pain in it.

 

“My place,” Yang answered, standing at Daemon’s bedside. “More specifically, the infirmary at my gang’s hideout in Vale’s south side.”

 

“Why did you bring me here,” he said, before looking down. “You had me dead to rights.”

 

“I had some questions for you,” Yang said, pulling a chair up to sit down in. “And corpses really don’t do much talking.”

 

Daemon paused, thinking for a moment. “You should have killed me.”

 

“Hey,” Yang said. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. I don’t let many people who manage to hurt me like that live. I’m interested in  _ you _ .” She leaned the chair back. “Why challenge me? What’s your game? And why do you have that semblance? The Schnee family Semblance?”

 

Daemon waited for another minute, before sighing, and reaching upward with his hand that wasn’t in a cast. He depressed a button behind his ear, and several things clicked around his neck. He reached with both hands, and pulled his helmet off, setting it in his lap. Under the mask was a young man with dark skin, and snow white hair combed and slicked back against the top of his head. Most stirring of all, at least to Yang, were the ice-blue eyes that now looked at her. “I haven’t been fully honest with you, although I feel you’ll understand as to why even now.”

 

Yang paused, taking everything in. “Well… that certainly explains the accent.”

 

Daemon chuckled. “I told you that my name was Kazakus Klay, but that is a name I adopted when my old one became... less than appropriate to have. I was born Augustus.” He turned to her, looking her in the eyes. “Augustus Schnee.”

 

“That explains the hair, eyes, and the Semblance,” Yang said. “Wait, so should I call you Augustus or Kazakus?”

 

“Kazakus, please,” he said. “Kaz even, if that’s easier. It’s what the Arena men all called me.”

 

“Okay,” Yang said. “But why target me then? If you are, er,  _ were _ a Schnee, why come after the leader of a gang?”

 

“I’m as far removed from my family as anyone can be theirs,” Kaz said. “I’m sure you noticed it when repairing my hand, but my body isn’t normal, to say the least.”

 

“Preaching to the choir there, champ,” Yang said. “I noticed the armour, but what’s with your fingers?”

 

Kaz looked at his left hand, clenching it. “I used to have 4, but he took them. He took my identity.”

 

“Who did?” Yang asked. 

 

“My father, Jacques Schnee.” Kaz said. He shook his head. “My story isn’t exactly brief, Miss Stardust,” he said.

 

“I’ve got time,” Yang said. “Tell me.”

 

Kaz sighed. “Wealth is a dangerous thing,” he began. “When you get to the point Jacques was at, you begin forgetting about others. Only what you desire matters. Only sating your needs matters. To that end, Jacques, in a night of anger and drunkenness, found my mother, a faunus maid in his manor” He shook his head. “The lady of the house had been difficult that night, she told me. Jacques would have what he wanted, he knew he had the influence to not have to care about the consequences. All of them except one. A consequence that came nine months later, in the form of a young bat faunus with eyes as blue as the sky, and white wisps of hair coming out of his head.  _ My  _ head.”

 

Yang was thankful for her mask hiding her look of abhorrence. “Gods…”

 

“There wasn’t any way to deny it,” Kaz said. “I was as much Jacques’s son as Winter Schnee his daughter. If word got out about me, it would be catastrophic to his image and influence. So I and my mother were hidden away, payed like kings to live secluded, quiet lives on a Schnee ranch far from the city. It was… nice for a time. Those more innocent days. I still had my wings back then.” He pointed with his left hand at his right, at the bottom of the front of the hand where the little finger would be. “My fourth finger, as well as something similar to a finger at my elbow, formed my bat wings under my arms. I actually was able to fly, for a short while. I got tired fast, but when I got older, I’d be able to fly for hours. At least, I would have if my semblance hadn’t manifested.

 

“Jacques married into the Schnee family, did you know that?” Yang shook her head. “He didn’t have the ‘family semblance,’ as it were. There was no way I would be able to have it, especially, since his own male heir, only 8 at the time, had manifested a completely different one. Yet there I was, a boy of 11, accidentally using a Glyph to protect myself from a neighbor’s dog in fear.” He shook his head, and Yang heard a short sniffle. “Jacques came down to our home in a fury I’d never seen him like. He attacked my mother, and I panicked. I used my semblance to strike him, to save her. He responded by pulling a gun and shooting her to death.” Kaz heard Yang gasp under her breath. “Me though, he realized he could use. But not like this. Not as a… faunus. He knocked me unconscious with the butt of his gun, and then days passed.

 

“I woke up in a hospital room, not unlike this one, hence my earlier panic. They’d… amputated my wings completely, the finger and flesh carved away. Jacques came to me then, his intentions clear. I would be his tool to take control of Atlas. Jacques told me that many doubted his right to take the Schnee name, but the fact that his blood could hold the Schnee semblance would sway public opinion. It would be a boon for him, getting him the power he desired. I would be classically trained, both with a sword and in the use of my semblance, and would be put forth as the icon of his right to rule Atlas. Deviation would result in death.

 

“So I played along. For 6 years, I trained, and bided my time, waiting for a moment. My weapon, Scarlight,” he said, raising his gauntlet and bandage-clad hand, “was made for me as I began to lean into the styles of the old Atlesian Centurions, warriors who fought with 99 others in a style of glory by any means necessary. It was a dirty, yet elegant style, I fell in love with it. Regardless, it was a year ago that I escaped, killing my instructor and fleeing into the Atlesian underground. With nowhere left to go, I turned to anything to get me the means to survive. That… lead to this.” He gestured to his body, and the armour covering him from the neck down. “In exchange for strength, I was made into the testing ground for a new type of cybernetic augment. Robotics fused into the flesh, in a way that would augment the strength and draw from the Aura in ways that were before thought impossible. I won’t pretend to know how it works, but, well, I went toe to toe with  _ you _ , Stardust, the strongest woman in the world, for a moment.

 

“I got drunk on the strength. Thought I could take out Jacques and be done with everything. I took the name of Kazakus Klay, and began working as an assassin in Atlas. A nineteen year old hitman,” he said, shaking his head again. “I hoped someone of my style, with my semblance performing hits would get to him. But it didn’t. It was as if I was beneath him. He’d already weaseled his way onto the Atlesian council without me, it seemed like my part was done anyway. If I was going to get vengeance, I needed to go bigger. So when I heard of you, a woman who appeared from nowhere, took over the Shannon Crime Family overnight, and at this point basically owned Vale, I knew killing you would get to him. So I reached out the only way I knew you’d respond. A somewhat public taunting. I was supposed to kill you, and ride that wave of influence to Schnee’s door, killing him there. For my mother, for  _ me _ , for everyone else that son of a bitch has hurt. The faunus, my half-sisters, everyone.” He looked at Yang, tears now in his eyes. “But you won. You beat me, and now we’re here. I have no plan, no aim, and no credibility left. You win, Stardust.”

 

“No, I don’t, not yet anyway,” she said, causing Kaz to snap to her.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“We have more in common than you realize,” Yang said, before pulling her hood down, and removing her own mask. Her now shoulder length hair fell from the helmet, and her crimson eyes met his blue. 

 

Kazakus gasped. “You’re… Yang. Yang Xiao Long.”

 

“I’m not surprised you know me,” Yang said. “I kinda  _ was  _ worldwide news during the Vytal festival. Gods, that feels like ages ago.”

 

“Last I heard, you were crippled and hiding away,” he said. “The news wasn’t very kind to you.”

 

“Didn’t expect them to be, really,” Yang said. She chuckled, “Hell, I’ll bet if I unmasked now, they’d be kinder to me than ever.”

 

“More importantly,” he said, “You know Weiss.”

 

“So you know why I’ve got a reason to punch Mustache McShithead’s lights out.” Yang grinned. “Not as much of a reason of you, but the sayings something like, the enemy of my enemy, Yang said, holding out her hand to Kaz, “is my friend.”

 

“You mean…”

 

“It’s an offer. Work with me, here, and we’ll take down Jacques, along with the White Fang, that bitch that burnt Vale to the ground, everyone. That’s what the Dragons are for. We take what we’re owed, and then take more.”

 

Kaz reached out, taking her hand in his own. “It’d be my honour, Miss Stardust.”

 

“Please, when it’s the two of us, call me Yang,” she said. “Also, keep that a secret, if you could.” She stood up, walking to the door. “Get some rest. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

 

*****

 

The lone man ran through the abandoned warehouse, weaving in between crates as Stardust pursued him. She kept pace, though she had to admit, he was faster than her.

 

“You’re only making this more difficult,” Yang said.

 

“ _ Fuck off! _ ” the man replied, firing a simple handgun at her. The bullets flattened against her abdomen, only making him more scared, and therefore faster.

 

“One more chance,” Yang said. The man turned another corner, and Yang grinned beneath her helmet. 

 

The man could see the exit of the warehouse, the doors hanging open to reveal moonlit streets. He gunned it as hard as he could, not bothering to look up as a large figure fell upon him. He was pinned to the ground, facing up at what looked like an entirely metal man, with the face of a scowling demon, He pulled a sword from his arm, and pointed it at the man’s neck.

 

“Red hood, perky orange ears, dark skin,” Kazakus said, using the glow from Scarlight to see his prey. “This is him.”

 

Yang walked up to the pinned faunus, kneeling down so that her mask was in his face. “Fennec Albain. I’ll say, your attitude’s a  _ lot _ shittier in person. I’d heard you were calm.”

 

“I’ll never-” Fennec began, but he was cut off by the tip of Kaz’s sword poking his neck.

 

“Quiet,” Yang said. “See, I know you’re with Taurus’ sect of the Fang. And I know that sect has been performing intense reconnaissance and searching on one particular woman. I’m sure you see the form of incentive I have here.”

 

Kazakus ran the edge of his blade along Fennec’s cheek, leaving a cut that began to bleed.

  
“I’ll ask you one time,” Yang said. “ _ Where is she? _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, just wanting to give some trivia/context on Kaz here at the endslate.
> 
> Kazakus Klay's name is a homage to the former name of Boxing legend Muhammad Ali, Cassius Clay. In one of his earlier iterations, Kaz was a boxer, and would have boxed Yang to a tie before joining her. As my ideas for him progressed, the boxing idea changed in favour of being inspired by the Centurion in For Honor. The name, however stuck. Additionally, Kaz was blind, having bionic eyes. However, i felt the blue eyes were too integral to the Schnee image to cut, so I cut the bionic eyes instead.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! The next one won't be so long nor take as long, i promise!


	7. The Hanged Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang finds the woman who wronged her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the one that gets BAD. Don't go in if you're not feeling great.

**DRAGONS SYNDICATE HEADQUARTERS**

 

**8:50 PM**

 

**2 YEARS AFTER THE FALL OF BEACON**

 

Yang walked down the hallway of the HQ, towards the boardroom-esque meeting room in the back of the building. She admitted it was a little big for what she had in mind; the meeting was only between what she called the ‘admins’ of the Dragons, being her, Peter, and Kazakus. Really, the admins were simply the ones closest to Yang among the gang, and the ones she trusted with leadership roles. 

 

As the head of information and tech, Peter had proven himself ten times over in terms of loyalty. But it wasn’t loyalty that made Yang keep Peter close; it was his morality. After the fiasco of her injuries at the Colosseum, Peter could have ridden his ‘told ya so’ high horse for weeks. Yet, in the following months, Peter kept a close eye on everyone. Good old ‘Uncle PT’, as the gang had taken to calling Power Tool these days, kept everyone in line, and in check. Whenever Yang got to zealous, or Kazakus too downtrodden, Peter was there. Yang valued the humanity in him, ironic considering their line of work. 

 

Kazakus was a different story. After coming into the fold, Kazakus immediately proved himself by hospitalizing more than a dozen of the Dragons’ fodder goons who’d tried to jump the faunus in without knowing who he was. As a result, Yang had begun bringing Kazakus on most missions she went on personally, the two of them playing off each other with Kazakus’ sensitive senses and semblance paired with Yang’s raw power. Over the months since his joining, he had carved his way to essentially being Yang’s right hand man. 

 

But Yang knew there was more to it than that. She knew it when she saw him tossing and turning while she took watch at camp, a nightmare plaguing him. She knew it when she saw him indulging in all the snacks the cafeteria in the HQ had stored up with a childlike zeal, as if he’d never seen them before. Sometimes, when he turned fast enough, the flapping of his red cape made it painfully clear what it was. 

 

Yang swore his eyes even looked silver sometimes.

 

She knew Kaz, even if he was a little older than her, was the best of them. He wasn’t the swirling pit of Rage and Vengeance she was, and she wasn’t the broken and rusted veteran of war Peter was. He was an innocent man, in a world of sin. 

 

Yang knew she couldn’t let him fall like she did. She wouldn’t.

 

She neared the door, and reached for the knob to let herself in. As she did, she both noticed that it was very slightly open, as well as heard a voice.

 

“What do you think of her?” Kaz asked.

 

Yang paused.

 

“The boss?” Peter said.

 

“Yes,” Kaz said. “I’m curious as to what you think, we’ve barely even talked in the first place.”

 

Yang thought about going in, but instead she carefully leaned against the wall behind the door, and listened closely.

 

“You’re right, we should talk more,” Peter chuckled. “But tell me what you think first.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Age before beauty, kid.”

 

“That’s not how that saying works. That would imply the  _ older _ one of us goes first.”

 

Yang chuckled lightly when she heard Peter blow a raspberry. “Semantics,” he said. “C’mon, new kid shows up, gets to being second in command, and suddenly asks another big player his opinion on the boss? I’m no rookie, kid.”

 

Kaz sighed. “Indeed, you’re not.” There was a brief pause. “I’ll admit, she scared me at first. She stood up like it was nothing from an attack that would have put down an Ursa Major, let alone a human with a broken aura. Yet, there’s this… humanity to her. I understand her anger, her rage. I want to help her get that vengeance, I feel like she deserves it. Do you understand?”

 

Another pause. “I do. And I agree. Yang’s been wronged, there’s no question. But my feelings… I actually feel sorry for the girl.”

 

Yang turned to the door, shock on her face that they couldn’t see.

 

“You’re… sorry for her?”

 

“She’s not like us, kid,” Peter said, his voice turning more somber. “You, this is all you’ve known. You were basically a child soldier that never got deployed, from what Yang’s told me. You may not be a child, but you’re still just a boy. And me, I’ve been at this longer than both of you put together. I’ve seen nastiness, things turning people from bright lights to the worst mankind can offer.

 

“But Yang? Until the Fall, she was like you. A fighter, but a bright eyed one. She’d had her trauma, but she was still a child. I can’t pretend to know what happened to her that day, but… but whatever happened to that girl, it must’ve been a horror that we probably couldn’t imagine. When I see her fight, when I hear her speak, I see and hear a woman without anything left to lose. Someone fighting with the knowledge that not if, but  _ once _ she’s won, she won’t have anything to go back to. So it breaks my heart, seeing her. My granddaughter always said she was the brightest of them, the one to bring everyone up when things were the darkest.” There was a much longer pause. “If this is the fate of someone like her in this world, what chance do we have?”

 

“You don’t,” Yang said, walking into the room, making the other two jump. “Not one to stay like you are, anyway. That’s why we’re here. To take that chance and make it a sure thing.”

 

“Be more dramatic, why don’t you,” Peter snarked. “I just turned 96, yknow. I’d like to make it to 100 before you lot kill me.”

 

Kaz quickly stood. “I’m sorry for talking of you out of turn, Lady Stard-”

 

“Cut it out with the formalities, Kaz,” Yang said with a chuckle. “I’m not mad. You’re a friend. Sit back down, we’ve got the mission to discuss.” Kaz opened his mouth to speak again, but quickly sat back down. Yang removed her helmet, and smiled at him. “Really, I mean it.” She set the helmet down, shutting the door behind her before moving into the room. It was a rather droll conference room, 8 chairs around a standard black table, a large television on the wall. Peter sat at the middle of the side away from the door, while Kazakus took the head of the table opposite the screen. Yang walked to the other end, plugging her screen into the TV and turning it on, a picture of a warehouse present on it.

 

“Our targets in there,” Yang said. “The info we’ve gotten out of the few Fang members that have cropped up over the past few months point to her being in there. It’s a three man job, and we’re all that’s going in. Now, he semblance is a powerful illusion. It makes fighting her one-on-one a suicide mission. But, she’s skittish. If she gets the impression she’s disadvantaged, she’ll slip out, and with how much we’ve, uh,  _ disrupted _ the Fang’s info network around here, it’s likely that she’ll be gone for good. Are we clear?” Peter and Kaz nodded. “Good. Here’s the plan.”

 

*****

 

Yang listened to her footsteps echo through the warehouse, as she walked between the cargo containers. Realistically, she knew if the target wanted gone, she’d be gone already. But Yang could  _ feel _ her. She couldn’t really explain it, but she knew she was here.

 

She just wished she’d fucking  _ show up _ .

 

She’d just rounded the corner of an aisle of crates, when suddenly, she saw her, at first out of the corner of her eye, but then in her full view as they both turned to face each other. Yang saw her in all her glory, for the first time in years.

 

Her outfit had changed. She was wearing a long, white coat, with a black top that exposed her now more-toned abdomen. Her heeled boots rode all the way up to her thighs, and hugged her form like her black pants. Most striking of all, however, where her Golden eyes, and her feline ears perked in surprise.

 

She’d prepared for months, but was still surprised to see Blake Belladonna. And she was further still surprised by her words.

 

“Yang…” she softly spoke, tears welling in her eyes. She began walking forward. “Yang, you’re here.”

 

“ _ You’re _ here,” Yang said, removing her helmet. Crimson met Gold, before turning away.

 

“Your eyes,” Blake said, raising a hand to Yang’s face.

 

“How did you know,” Yang asked. “How did you know it was me?”

 

“I’ve been… following you for some time.” Blake said. “I… followed you here. I had to know. Had to know it was you.”

 

“I had to know something too,” Yang said, before reaching up with her prosthetic, closing her hand around Blake’s neck and hoisting her into the air. “But I don’t think I care anymore.”

 

“Yang-” Blake managed to choke out, before a crack echoed through the warehouse. Yang tossed Blake’s limp corpse to the side, before turning around.

 

“A good trick, but you missed something.” She made contact with another pair of red eyes that pierced the darkness above her. “Still, it caught me off guard. And you knew who I was beforehand. Better than I thought you’d be, Emerald.”

 

The pair of eyes lept down, knowing their gambit was up. Emerald was clad in a black coat, with her green top underneath visible from the open front. Her boots weren’t heeled, but were rather a hard brown leather, matching the brown chaps over her black pants. Her hair was a fair bit longer, extending past her shoulders, but she still had her two longer locks that were tied back behind her hair. Her weapons laid holstered on her back, and her expression was that of fear, her grimace twisting a burn scar that slashed across her face diagonally, crossing over her nose but narrowly missing both eyes. 

 

“How… why... “ she stammered. “How are you so cold? She was your  _ partner _ , and you killed her in cold blood! Without hesitation!”

 

Yang simply whistled. “That’s a nasty scar you got there. Your hot murderer boss give you that?”

 

“Don’t!” Emerald started, but winced and turned away. “Don’t talk about her.”

 

“Okay,” Yang said. “Let’s talk about you then.” She pointed to the now fading illusion behind her. “By the way, it was that Fennec guy that told me your semblance. That Blake idea was cute, but you forgot the scar on her abdomen from where your  _ other _ murderer boss hurt her.”

 

“I don’t work for that mad dog,” Emerald spat.

 

“I don’t care, you and your friends let him off the leash. Not to mention what you did to me personally at the Vytal festival.” Yang grinned. “Though, the validation I got from learning I was right almost made me not want to hunt you down.” Her smile faded. “Now, how did you know it was me under the mask?”

 

“Come on,” Emerald shouted, “You’d have to be a complete idiot to not realize it. Yang Xiao Long is reported missing, a taller, muscular girl with a bionic arm. Then, a year later, a large, muscular woman with a bionic arm shows up and puts half the damn continent under her heel in a self proclaimed ‘quest against those who have wronged her’. I put the pieces together myself.”

 

“So you’re telling me someone involved with Cinder’s plans knows my identity,” Yang said, “and you’re expecting to get out alive?”

 

Emerald winced again, but chuckled. “The fact you think that I’m still with…  _ her _ after what she did is funny, but the fact that you think this ends at that bitch is even funnier.” Emerald managed a smile. “Now, you’re gonna help me get  _ my _ vengeance. You’re gonna help me kill that psychotic, mute  _ bitch _ .”

 

“And why would I do that,” Yang asked, “for someone who helped reduce everything I care about to ruins?”

 

Emerald snapped her fingers, and the doors of every cargo container around both of them flew open, dozens of red-lit Atlesian drones in each, training their rifles on Yang. “Because I saved the scroll from the attack on Beacon. I don’t care how invincible you are, this many guns on you will turn you to ribbons.”

 

“This is obviously an illusion,” Yang said, unflinching.

 

“Is it?” Emerald asked, as one of the drones fired a shot at Yang’s foot. “Sure, they may not all be real, but you know at least one is. Can you bet on there not being enough to kill you? Can you really bet against your senses?”

 

“I can, quite easily,” Yang said. “Because Fennec didn’t just give me surface level shit, he gave me details, including one important one.” Suddenly, a glowing orange Gladius found its way along Emerald’s neck, and a strong, gauntlet clad arm grabbed her by the abdomen. “Anything more that mild confusion can’t really be applied to more than one person. And for something that big, you’d need to be pretty much putting everything you had into it.”

 

As Emerald lost her focus, all of the drones faded from Yang’s view, save for one that was in reality a lone henchman with a rifle, who was shaking in fear. Yang pulled a 9mm pistol from her hip, and shot the man in the head, his bloody corpse falling 3 or so stories before flopping against the concrete. 

 

“Let her go, Daemon,” Yang said, and at her word, Kaz let Emerald go, who immediately collapsed to her knees, panting heavily. Kazakus kept his sword leveled at the back of her head. “You know,” Yang continued, “I’ve kinda gotten over my gauntlets. They don’t add anything anymore; my punches don’t get anything from the gunfire, and I’m too heavy to propel myself around with ‘em. These muscles didn’t come free, you know.” She chuckled. “I’ve found myself loving just simple handguns, though. Simple, and they get the smaller jobs done fast. Sleek, simple, elegant, I love ‘em.” She turned her attention to the still panting Emerald. “Geez, that took more out of you than I thought it would. So, now that your whole deception thing seems to be done, let’s talk.”

 

“What more do you want,” Emerald asked. “You’ve won.”

 

“Gods, do I have to do this same song and dance with every goddamned person I beat?” Yang shouted. “You said you wanted revenge on Cinder. Why?” Emerald grimaced again, Yang noticing her consistent reaction to hearing her name. “Did… was she the one that hurt you?”

 

Emerald hesitated, but nodded. “You don’t have any reason to believe me, but it's true. I’m not with them anymore.”

 

“You’re right,” Kaz said. “We don’t have a reason.”

 

“Daemon, can it,” Yang said. “She’s telling the truth.”

 

“How do you know?” Kaz shouted.

 

“Because,” Yang said, meeting Emerald’s eyes. “I know what a broken heart looks like. I own enough mirrors to know.” She held Emerald’s gaze, despite her shock at the statement. “You loved her, didn’t you Em?”

 

Emerald hesitated, and nodded slowly. “She… saved me. Brought me in from the streets. Gave me a purpose. I just… fell for her. And she loved me back. Or… or at least she pretended to. As the plan progressed, I was happy. I didn’t know we were in the wrong until Beacon was burning. She told me everything I needed to hear, how there were rules, and oppression, and how we were fixing everything. That it was a revolution that would save the world. We got closer. Hugs became kisses, and kisses became nights alone in the hideouts, where no one would hear. But then… she got what she wanted. And Red hurt her. She changed. Meaningless, childish sex got… worse. So much worse. She didn’t care about me. Just her. Just getting even, and serving this… Salem woman. She lost her reason to pretend to love me.” She briefly choked on a sob. “One night I’d had enough, and wanted out. She struck me, burnt me, and left me to die there. I got up, and ran out, using illusions on anyone in the way. I made it to one of the ships we had, and just flew to Mistral. After that I just… hid. I made it to Vale, and saw you, and knew what I had to do.”

 

“You wanted me to help you get revenge on them,” Yang said.

 

“No,” Emerald said, her voice wavering. “I wanted you to… t-to kill me.”

 

“What?” Yang said, her voice filled with shock.

 

“I was hoping you’d do it when I casted the illusion,” Emerald said, breaking down. “But I can’t… I can’t do it anymore! The hurting, the horrible, dirty feelings that won’t go away… the screaming, the burning, the… the p-pain on Ruby’s face, on everyone’s face… I just want it to end!” Emerald was screaming as tears fell to the ground. “Please! Please…. Make it stop….”

 

Yang paused, thinking long and hard. Then, making Kazakus gasp in surprise, she raised her gun, pointing it at Emerald. Emerald screwed her eyes shut, waiting for the noise that would be her release.

 

Instead, she opened her eyes in shock after hearing the gun clatter to the ground in front of her.

 

“Do it yourself,” Yang said, without any emotion in her voice.

 

Emerald looked at the gun for a moment, before picking it up. Her hand shook as she pressed the barrel against her temple. Her face contorted in a grimace, and she flinched, before tossing the gun as far as she could away from herself, and falling to her hands and knees. She panted, before falling down into more sobs.

 

“I knew it,” Yang said, making Emerald look up. “I knew you were stronger than that.”

 

“Wh...what?” Emerald managed to choke out.

 

Yang got down on her knees, to meet Emerald at eye level. “You don’t want to die, Emerald. You want the pain to go away, but you’re strong enough to not want to die.”

 

“But…” she stammered, “but I-”

 

“You wanted me to kill you because you were too scared to do it yourself,” Yang said. “But I know you’re too strong for that now. I can help you, Emerald.”

 

“I don’t… don’t deserve your help,” Emerald choked out.

 

“You’ve already realized what you were doing was wrong, Em,” Yang said. “That’s the first step towards healing.” She stood up, holding out her hand. “Towards  _ redemption _ .”

 

Emerald sat up, looking at the hand, then at Yang. “There’s more to it, isn’t there. I feel it.”

 

Yang chuckled. “You  _ are _ clever.” Yang looked at her eyes, the colour of them being the same red she saw in the mirror every day. A shade that meant that she was stronger than almost anyone. “I can’t tell you everything, not right now. But I can tell you that you’ve got a great power within you, Emerald. And I can help you use it.” She shook her outstretched hand slightly. “This time, for good intentions.”

 

Emerald paused, before chuckling, and then falling into full blown laughter. She took the hand, Yang helping her to her feet. “Calling what you do good, now  _ there’s _ the Yang humour I’ve missed.”

 

Yang returned the chuckle. “Don’t lie, you haven’t missed shit.”

 

“True,” Emerald replied, wiping her eyes around her wide smile.

 

“C’mon,” Yang said, beckoning her and Kaz. “Let’s go home.”

 

*****

 

“I gotta say kid, that one takes the cake.”

 

Yang and Peter sat at her desk, drinking late into the night. 

 

“What do you mean?” Yang responded.

 

Peter took a long drink. “I saw that whole thing, through the helmet’s onboard camera.” He looked her in the eye. “She’s like you, isn’t she. She’s got this… Assassin Fist in her.”

 

Yang paused. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I just kinda… know it. She’s the only other person with red eyes I’ve seen. That means something. I don’t know if she’s like me, or if it’s different, but it’s in her, the potential to become like me.”

 

Peter poured another drink. “She almost had you figured out, she did.”

 

Yang took a drink, her eyes narrowing. “What are you implying?”

 

Peter sighed. “The boy, I understood. He’s… different. He needs someone’s guidance, I know we both know that. But the girl, she was the catalyst. If what you said is true, it's her fault, nearly all of it. Without her, Beacon would still be standing.” He slammed his drink. “I ain’t exaggerating when I say she’s got, by far, the strongest semblance I’ve ever seen.” He looked Yang in the eye again. “She destroyed you, Yang. Your reputation, your life, everything is because of her.”

 

“And?” Yang said, her voice raising in agitation.

 

“I know you’re a good person, deep down.” Peter sighed again. “But you’re not bringing her in just for her sake. You  _ need _ her power.”

 

Yang stood up, slamming her hands on the table. “How  _ DARE _ you?” she shouted. “You think that that’s all I care about? Power? No, it’s about reclamation! It always has been! For all of us!”

 

“Then what was that shit you pulled with the gun, then?” Peter shouted back, fire in his words. “You claim to care for this girl, to want to make things right for her,  _ help  _ her, yet you handed a woman literally  _ begging _ to die a loaded gun.”

 

“That…” Yang began, but her fire was fading. “That was a test. To make sure she was willing to change. That she  _ wanted _ to change.”

 

“And if she failed?” Peter said. “What then? What’s your reclamation got to say about that?”

 

Yang attempted to speak, but found silence on her tongue.

 

“I thought so.” Peter said. He pushed his chair back, turning from Yang. “I promised I’d follow you into hell, Yang. And the boy, he would too. But you need to make sure you’re not leading that girl into hell, if you’re serious about healing her.” He turned back to her. “Because from what I’ve seen, she’s not strong enough.” He walked to the door, sighing. “She’s not like you. She doesn’t have bottomless anger to pull from, and she doesn’t have anything to go back to. Not like you do.” He opened the door. “You may be invincible, but she’s not. Nobody else is. Think about that before you bring any more people like her, like  _ you _ , into this quest of yours.”

 

Yang wanted to shout, to scream at him as he left and slammed the door, but knew he was right. She sat back down, finishing her drink, and looking at things that had arrived for her today while she was out. Most of it was junk or threats, but there was one, on a scrap of paper, that caught her eye. Not for what it said, but for the handwriting, the subtle language, and everything else.

 

Handwriting that belonged, without a doubt, to her partner.

 

_ Meet me at Beacon’s ruins tomorrow night. Midnight. We need to talk. _

 

_ -B.B. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise?


	8. The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang faces a ghost from her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it's been a while hasn't it?
> 
> This one went through a lot of changes, and was being written amongst midterm season. I hope the longer chapter makes it worth it!
> 
> Also, and this probably sounds familiar, this one gets pretty dark.

**DRAGONS SYNDICATE TERRITORY - BEACON RUINS**

 

**12:00 AM**

 

**2 YEARS AFTER THE FALL OF BEACON**

 

It had been nearly a full year since Yang had been to the ruins of her former school, not since the first day she had returned to Vale. She absentmindedly wondered if she had left the door of her old dorm open as she walked onto the abandoned campus, the wood of her sandals clacking against the cracked stones of the walkway the only sounds she heard aside from the howling winds around her. She absent-mindedly wondered if she had left the door to her dorm open when she left, when she spotted her. Standing there, in front of the crumbling statue that once stood proud at Beacon’s gate, was the girl who had left her behind that day, those years ago.

 

Staring down Yang, in the middle of the ruins, was Blake Belladonna.

 

Emerald had done her homework, Yang realized. She had mentioned after their fight that she’d left after the Fang had taken some reconnaissance on her and shared it with her, but she didn’t know much other than she was in Menagerie at the time, and what she looked like. Blake had apparently grown a little older since then, active combat aging her rapidly. Her clothes were the same, the same longcoat, top, boots and pants as Emerald’s illusion, but her hair was much shorter than she remembered, just barely past her shoulders. Her abdomen was more cut than in the past, with a grisly scar above her hip where Adam had impaled her. On what skin Yang could see, there were a few other smaller scars, including one across her left cheek. Her exposed cat ears twitched to the sounds of nature around them, and her amber eyes pierced through her. What struck Yang most of all, however, was A violet bandana tied around her neck. One, Yang remembered, she had left at Beacon after the Fall and needed to replace.

 

_ Shit, _ Yang thought, feeling the ache in her chest, the dozens of questions surging in her head,  _ it’s worse than I imagined. I can’t come clean, not yet. But… maybe I can get her on my side? _

 

The two stood for a moment, seeming to take in the other’s appearance, their coats flapping in the wind before Blake broke the silence.

 

“You’re a tough woman to reach,” she said, her familiar deadpan filling Yang with nostalgia. 

 

“I mean, you could have been a little more forward,” Yang replied, keeping her facade of collectedness. “I do have a bar, you know. The drinks are pretty good.”

 

Blake chuckled, a sound that caught Yang off guard. “I assumed with your stance on Huntresses, I’d’ve been shot on sight.”

 

“You, a Huntress?” Yang said, feigning ignorance. “And here I thought you were a representative of the Sexy Pirates Gang down by the docks.”

 

“Cute,” Blake said, before pulling a wallet from her pocket that unfolded into a Huntress’ licence and badge. “Blake Belladonna, from the Mistral Hunt Branch.”

 

_ Mistral Branch? _ Yang thought.  _ She must have traveled there after Menagerie. _ “What, you here to enact that standing warrant on me?”

 

Blake replaced the wallet into her pocket, before shaking her head. “Vale’s got that warrant out, mostly out of spite.” She paused. “Tell me, how much of world politics are you paying attention to, Stardust?”

 

“Nothing that doesn’t relate to me or my Kingdom,” Yang answered shortly.

 

Blake sighed. “Then it makes sense why you’d think I would come here to arrest you.” She took a few steps towards Yang. “It’s been a long two years, since the Fall. Most of the other kingdoms and territories thought Vale would get back onto its feet after the attack. Even if it was horrific, it was only on the capital. They could rebuild. But the people’s mentality thought otherwise. The people for Vale had grown something of a… disdain for the Hunt. They didn’t trust it anymore, and stopped contributing. Without funds, enforcement went down, and crime rose. As crime rose, emotions that attracted the Grimm did too.” She sighed again, looking down. “Sure, the criminals could fight them off and keep the kingdom safe, but gang violence, crime wars, everything was rampant.

 

“And then you came along,” Blake said, looking back up at Yang. “Someone with drive and ideals, who managed to unify all of the city under your flag in just over a year.” Her gaze became fiery, anger becoming present in her eyes. “And it took the murder of one of my friends, but you brought the public disdain against the Hunt to a crescendo when they adamantly refused to answer you. You brought crime down to record lows. You unified the kingdom, and are even beginning to rebuild the ruined district. The other branches of the Hunt loathe to admit it, but you’re the law of the land in Vale, at least in the capital now. So as much contempt as I hold for you for murdering Fox Alistair, I come here as a representative of the Hunt. We’re requesting your help.”

 

Yang paused, taking the information in. “Fine,” Yang said. “I’ll hear you out.”

 

_ This is going to be harder than I thought, _ Yang thought to herself.  _ Getting her onto my side is harder now that we’re enemies from the start. _

 

Blake pulled out her scroll, pressing a few buttons on the display before a holographic screen came up, displaying numerous White Fang members that had been spotted in Vale. “While domestic crime had dropped to an all-time low under your eye,” she said, “there’s been a noticeable spike in White Fang activity since the Hunt’s branch here began its full radio silence around 3 months ago. Not anything major, but enough to where I was sent out to perform reconnaissance.” She pressed another key, and all of the pictures changed to the broken, bloody corpses of all the same Fang members, in the places and positions the Dragons had dumped them. “Then, over the last two months, any White Fang members that I had spotted in the city had turned up dead. Brutally murdered, seemingly tortured for information” She replaced her scroll into her pocket. 

 

“And what does this have to do with me?” Yang asked.

 

“It’s clear your people are behind the killings,” Blake said. “It’s not within my  jurisdiction to arrest you for this, but what I can ask is why. Why kill these men, and if you are indeed torturing them for information, what information are they divulging?”

 

Yang opened her mouth to speak, but found something stopping her, something that shouted at her, in her own, angry voice.  _ What are you doing, you gay idiot? _ It screamed,  _ this is  _ her! _ The one who left you behind, who started all this! _

 

More voices joined a cacophony of her own angry shouting that echoed in her head

 

_ Why are you bothering? She doesn’t feel the same way! _

 

_ She left you! _

 

_ She hated you then, she hates you now! _

 

_ You can’t show any more weakness! _

 

_ You’re not the weakling she left behind! You’re a demon! _

 

_ You’re a demon! _

 

_ You’re a demon! _

 

_ I’m a demon _ , Yang thought, the shouting evaporating,  _ and I answer to noone _ .

 

“What the White Fang have given me is mine and my own.” Yang spat, her tone having become laced with her latent rage. “You need my help. I don’t need yours. Yes, I killed those men, and I’ll kill a thousand more if it brings me Taurus, and everyone else that’s wronged me!” At her words, Blake simply chuckled, irritating Yang. “What’s so funny?”

 

Blake shook her head, the slight grin from the chuckling vanishing. “Tell me, have you ever been in love, Stardust?”

 

Yang was taken aback by the question. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I thought I was once, but I was wrong.” She sighed, shaking her head again. “That’s the thing about love. You can think you know it, but you don’t until you feel it. I thought I was in love, but it took me falling in love to realize what I had before, it wasn’t love.”

 

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with anything,” Yang said, her irritation growing.

 

Blake looked at Yang, her amber eyes seeming to bore through her. “The girl I love, she’s gone.”

 

_ Girl _ ? Yang thought.

 

“My friends think she’s dead, but I know she isn’t. She can’t be, she’s stronger than that.” Blake’s gaze seemed to grow even more intense. “I have reason to believe she was taken by Adam Taurus to get to me. With the information from the White Fang, I can find her. I can find Yang.”

 

_ ME? _ Yang’s thoughts screamed.

 

“With your cooperation, it would be doable.” Blake’s frown turned to a snarl. “But now I know you’re a cold monster who doesn’t care about anyone but herself.”

 

Yang scoffed. “And how do you figure that?”

 

Blake scoffed. “Only three of those White Fang members were killed by your men. The others were all interrogated and killed by me. Yet you took credit for all of them.”

 

_ What… what is happening? _ Yang thought, unable to process this information.  _ Blake…  _

 

“I don’t have time for games,” Blake shouted. She drew her sword from her back, leveling it at Yang. “I don’t care who you are, but with what you know, I can save Yang. I  _ will _ save Yang! And You’re going to help me, either as you are now, or when I’ve broken you.”

 

_ I… I don’t know what’s happening… _ Yang thought, when the screaming from earlier came back.

 

_ You don’t have time to think, you have to fight! _

 

_ That’s what you do, you fight! _

 

_ No more going soft, no more taking people in! _

 

_ You can’t be weak! _

 

_ You’re strong! You’re a demon! _

 

_ Kill her! Kill the woman who wronged you! _

 

_ Kill her! Kill her! _

 

_ KILL HER! _

 

“I don’t know,” Yang said, assuming her combat stance. “I have something of a reputation for being unbreakable.”  _ I’m a demon. I have to fight. _

 

_ I’ll kill her. _

 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Blake said, before pulling something out of her coat. “You did give me all day to prepare, after all.” Blake flipped the top open, revealing a red button. Before Yang could react, Blake leapt up atop the ruined statue and pressed the switch. In an instant, the entire walkway exploded, sending dust and debris everywhere. When the dust cleared, Blake’s eyes bulged at the sight of Stardust standing there seemingly untouched, holding a splintered sandal by the now-frayed strap.

 

“Y’know, I carved those sandals myself. I had them for more than a year,” Yang said with a chuckle. “So are you planning on fighting fair?” Yang pulled a giant handgun, the barrel easily longer than a foot and coated in ornate gold decorations, including the word  _ Rekkashingeki  _ along the sides of the barrel. “‘Cause I’m not.” Yang fired a shot immediately, Blake’s form dissipating into smoke as her semblance took the hit. The bullet traveled through the image, and obliterated the statue behind it. “Custom tool 13mm cartridges,” she said, answering a question Blake was asking in her head. “You won’t get another chance to dodge like that. These things travel faster than sniper fire.”

 

“Care to test that?” Yang heard Blake shout, before a gunshot roared and a large bullet hit her left shoulder, the force of the impact making her recoil slightly. She looked at the wound, the bullet lodged into her shoulder, and the wound refusing to heal.

 

_ Damn,   _ Yang thought,  _ aura suppression rounds.  _ She grit her teeth and used her clawed fingers on her prosthesis to dig the bullet out, flicking it away as her shoulder knit itself back together. She looked up to find that Blake had fled to a window in the nearby school building’s ruins, lying down to operate a high power sniper rifle. It wasn’t like Ruby’s, built to suppress recoil, so it had to be bolted into the ground to be fired at all. Yang took aim with her handgun, firing a shot at Blake’s perch. Blake fired another round at the same time, her semblance again taking the impact and dissipating as Yang’s bullet traveled into the scope of the rifle and tore it to pieces. Yang quickly raised her prosthetic arm, the sniper round bouncing off the metal harmlessly. Yang sprinted forward, replacing her gun in her coat. She entered into Beacon’s ruined foyer, with furniture overturned and holes in the ceiling, and large boulders sat in front of the destroyed elevator Pyrrha had used that night.

 

_ She’s better than at Beacon _ , Yang thought.  _ She seems to have her semblance as a passive effect, rather than something she needs to prepare and have ready. I need to think like her. She can’t fight me head on. She’s got to rely on tricks. _

 

At the punctuation of that thought, Blake leapt down from above, making a slash at Yang’s abdomen with Gambol Shroud. Yang allowed the blade to bounce harmlessly off her flesh before returning the strike with her left hand. Yang had anticipated Blake to leap behind her with the clone, but found her arm lodged in a stone statue of Blake, with Blake standing behind it. Blake quickly clasped something around her wrist before Yang tore it free of the stone. Blake then leapt above her, deploying a clone made of fire over her as she flipped, distracting Yang as she swatted away the flames. She’d just gotten eyes on Blake again when she pulled another slender detonator from her coat, and depressed the trigger.  A series of smaller detonations turned Yang’s attention to the elevator shaft, and to the chains that were connected to the boulders that had began falling into the shaft. Chains, that lead to the bracer Blake had clasped around her arm. Before Yang could react, she began being dragged backward rapidly, her feet sliding on the ground as she was rapidly dragged toward the hole in the ground. Yang turned her feet, mustering her strength as she stood against the edge. The weight of the stones that were hanging down were taking their toll, and Yang could feel her wrist, and later her arm be dislocated as she tried to fight the weight dragging her into the abyss. Using her prosthesis, she pulled her gun from her coat, shooting the chain several times, and letting the rocks tumble before regaining her footing.Her left arm hung limp at her side, discolouration beginning to show at her wrist and shoulder. Yang looked at Blake, grimacing through pain she hadn’t felt in a long time.

 

“If you were serious, you would have kicked me into that pit,” Yang said. “Or, you would have at least tried to.”

 

“You reacted to sniper fire,” Blake said. “Even if I could strike you into the pit, there’s no guarantee you wouldn’t simply pull me with you.” She stood up straight, tossing the detonator aside. “Regardless, this fight’s over. You can’t fight with those injuries. I’m honestly surprised your still conscious.”

 

“This?” Yang said, before tearing the shackle off her wrist. She then grabbed her hand, and with a grunt and a snap, shoved it into place, before doing the same with her shoulder. Within seconds, the discolouration around the wounds vanished, and she flexed her arm as if nothing had happened. “I’ve had worse,” she said, pulling the bandaging around her chest down somewhat to reveal a large, jagged scar from the strike Kazakus had inflicted in their fight. “Though I’ll admit, it hurt like hell.”

 

Blake’s eyes went wide, her mouth gaping at the sight. “That’s… not possible…” she said. “Aura healing a bullet I could understand, but there’s no way you could heal  _ that _ that quickly! That was more than 200 tonnes of stone!”

 

“And I’m around 700 pounds of Demon,” Yang said, cracking her single set of organic knuckles. “You get heavy when you’re this strong. Muscles are pretty damn massive. Plus, this thing’s pretty hefty too,” she continued, waving her prosthesis for emphasis, before reassuming her stance. “Now, come at me like you mean it, you fucking  _ coward _ .”

 

Blake’s eyes narrowed, before she lept in, firing the gun in Gambol Shroud at Yang as she advanced. The bullets flattened against her, Yang advancing forward to meet Blake’s sweeping downward slash. Yang raised her metal arm to meet the strike, and as Blake landed, she grabbed ahold of the handle on Gambol Shroud’s larger blade and pulled the shorter blade free, attempting to strike with it. Yang caught the narrow blade in her flesh and blood hand, chuckling when Blake’s eyes went wide.

 

“Nice knife,” Yang said, crushing the sword in her hand at the hinge, the top half of the blade clattering to the floor. Yang surged her now free hand forward, meeting the fading mist of a shadow clone as Blake dashed backward, panting. She replaced Gambol Shroud in its scabbard before running forward again, deploying clones of various dust types that Yang easily swatted away. Blake went for a horizontal slash, and as it made contact with Yang’s block, the figure faded.  _ Gotcha _ , Yang thought, turning behind her, to where Blake would obviously be. Instead, she gasped in a rare moment of pain as, with all her might, Blake drove Gambol Shroud’s blade into Yang’s left flank, having reappeared exactly where she had disappeared. Blake twisted the sword, causing another grunt of pain, before Yang finally pivoted and attempted to strike her, shouting with rage. Blake ate the first hit with a clone leaping back, until she found that her foot had snagged. She looked down as her leap backwards jerked, finding that Yang had grabbed onto her right ankle. Yang reeled her in, and struck downward with her prosthetic arm. The crack of the dust batteries inside it overcharging filled the air, as Blake hit the ground hard and slid backward until her back slammed into a collapsed wall. Yang walked to her, her blood boiling, her teeth grinding themselves to dust. She looked down on Blake’s collapsed form, the wounded girl staring up at her with fire in her eyes.

 

“You were fighting as if you thought I didn’t know how your semblance worked,” Yang said, trying to think around the agony that was the sword in her side. “You’ve trained your aura to create one of those doppelgangers whenever you take enough trauma. But you don’t teleport, you just are able to move at a heightened speed and change your momentum on a dime. Cute trick, but doesn’t do anything if I already have a hold of you, without applying enough force before I actually grabbed you. You’re done, Blake Belladonna.”

 

Blake spat at her, a mix of blood and saliva staining Yang’s pants. “Then kill me,” she said weakly, before pulling the bandana around her neck down with her left hand. Behind it was a jagged, ugly scar all across Blake’s neck. “You wouldn’t be the first to try.”

 

_ She’s hurt, _ Yang thought, before being answered by her own demons.

 

_ Who cares, she’s beaten! _

 

_ Broken! _

 

_ Finish her! _

 

_ Finish the woman who wronged you! _

 

_ End what you started! _

 

_ Kill her! _

 

_ KILL HER! _

 

Yang pulled out her gun, and aimed it at Blake’s forehead. She didn’t know what she was doing, why she was doing it, only that she was compelled to. She looked down at Blake, and found that it wasn’t her hand. The arm she was looking at had a glove, and a black long sleeve jacket on. Most alarming of all, however, was the gleaming crimson sword in her hand, plunged into Blake’s abdomen. She looked around, and saw Beacon in flames. Everything was coming back to her, her fear, that day, everything.  _ Blake, _ she thought, her head still swimming.  _ BLAKE! _ She thought, her mind snapping back to reality in time to hear a gunshot.

 

Yang reeled back, screaming in pain as shattered glass and a flattened bullet scraped at her eye. Blake fired again, piercing the other eyehole in Yang’s mask. Yang shook her head, opening her eyes, thankful that her eyeballs were as strong as the rest of her. She made eye contact with Blake, crimson meeting amber without any obstacles. She tore the gun from Blake’s grip, and pointed her own at Blake’s chest.

 

“Go to Hell,” Yang spat, her earlier worry all but forgotten. As Blake shifted, rising quickly, Yang pulled the trigger.

 

The haunting  _ click _ of an empty gun was a sound Yang didn’t think she’d ever forget.

 

“ _ You can come to Hell with me! _ ” Blake screamed, planting a large explosive in the center of Yang’s chest before triggering the detonator immediately. The explosion tore a large hole in Yang’s chest, and sent her flying backward.

 

Yang felt the world around her fading, between the blade in her side and the hole in her chest. Her last thoughts before blacking out were hazy.

 

_ I… lost? _

 

_ Blake… _

 

*****

 

The world faded back in slowly, Yang blinking a few times to get the heaviness out of her eyes, before glancing around her. She was in a hospital, in a sterile and stark white room, hooked up to monitors that beeped. She couldn’t feel an IV in her arm, instead seeing one protruding from her chest, where a grisly, crater-like patch of scar tissue now sat above her breasts. She supposed that they couldn’t breach the skin with the IV, and stuck it in the wound while it was still healing. She looked down to her flank, and saw another scar, similar to the one in the center of her chest, another stab wound she’d carry with her as a mark of someone who’d wounded her.

 

_ No, someone who beat me _ , she thought.

 

The Rekkashingeki handgun is powerful, but it only holds 5 shots. One at the statue, one at the sniper’s nest, and three in panic at the chain dragging her to hell. An empty gun for when it mattered most. She’d need to talk to Peter about reinforcing the glass in the eyeholes of her mask, Blake was able to shoot them ou-

 

_ Blake _ ….

 

Yang flopped back down, her mind going over what had just happened. Never mind what she’d said, what she’d done during her fight. It was the last moment that resonated with her.

 

_ I pulled the trigger. I tried to kill her. I wanted to kill her _ . 

 

She’d lost control. There wasn’t any other way around it, no explanation that made it softer, nothing at all. Her rage, her source of her strength, was doing things to her mind. Things that took last night to a place where she didn’t have any control over herself. Urges almost primal had surged through her, compelling her to fight, to  _ kill _ . Yang felt an emotion swell over her that she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

 

Fear. Yang was afraid. Afraid of what could happen if she loses control again.

 

Yang’s mind continued to swim, until being snapped out of it by a familiar voice.

 

“You really fucked it this time, eh kid?”

 

Yang sat up, seeing Peter in a chair next to her bed. “Peter…”

 

“I’ve been here since Kaz dragged you two in,” he said. “Made sure the doctors were paid plenty of hush money.” Peter looked at her, worry present in his eyes. “What… what happened to you? I didn’t think anything could hurt you like that.”

 

Yang laid back down, looking at the ceiling. “My technique only strengthens my body, it doesn’t make it invincible. Places that would normally be very vulnerable, like my flank, or the center of my chest, can be stabbed through with the right weapon.”

 

“You know bloody well that ain’t what I’m talkin’ about,” Peter said. “There was a hole in your chest wider than my arm. The exit wound on your back is enormous. What… what even did that to you?”

 

“High yield explosive,” Yang said. “She planted it right on my chest and pulled the trigger.”

 

“There’s no way it was just that,” Peter said. “You’re tougher than getting put down by that.” He looked down. “You… you woulda died if Kaz hadn’t brought you. You weren’t healing. You needed Aura boosters to jumpstart your heart. How did some huntress with a bomb do something  _ thousands _ of others couldn’t do?”

 

Yang clenched her teeth. “I lost control. I lost composure. I was nothing but anger that fight. My fury consumed me. It got… bad.” Yang’s eyes shut, her head turned away from Peter. “My mind collapsed. I was there at Beacon, but it was three years ago. Everything was burning, and she was hurt there. But I wasn’t me. I was…  _ him. _ The one who hurt her, who took my arm. Adam.”

 

“Gods above…” Peter muttered in shock.

  
  


“Blake snapped me out of it by shooting through my mask’s eyeholes. I should be thanking you, the glass reduced the force to where my baseline ability allowed my eyes to survive. But my mind and composure was so shaken by that flashback… I wasn’t prepared. I lost a fight I started for no reason other than being a monster.”

 

“Yang,” Peter said, care and worry in his voice, “you’re not a mon-”

 

“ _ You didn’t hear them! _ ” Yang screamed, sitting back up. “You didn’t have voices in your head screaming non-stop for you to kill the woman you fell in love with! You didn’t  _ feel _ yourself lose complete control of your body, feel something else take over, like you’re not even  _ real! _ ” Yang began to choke on her own sobs. “I… traded my humanity away, Peter. I traded everything away for this strength, this mission. He warned me, and I didn’t listen. I feel it. I feel something clawing at me, trying to get at me. I lost today, and was only shocked out of it by nearly dying. If it happens again… I…  _ oh Gods _ …” Yang clenched her fists, and sat ramrod straight up, knowing what she needed to do. She tore the IV out of her chest, and the other monitors off of her. She stood up, turning to a now frightened Peter. “Where is she?”

 

Peter put two and two together. “Next room over. Still asleep. You’ll need this,” he said, handing her her helmet. “I fixed the glass. This time, it’s bulletproof.”

 

“Put it on my tab,” Yang said, allowing herself a smile, before walking out the door with the helmet on. “You were right, Peter. I’m not invincible.”

 

Peter sighed. “I didn’t wanna be right about this, kid.”

 

*****

 

Yang had retrieved her coat, thankful that it had been dutifully repaired by someone in the time she’d been out, which had only been a few hours. She had made it back to Blake’s room, and paused at the door.

 

_ Do I deserve this? _ She thought. _ Do I deserve her? _ She shut her eyes, clenching her fists, and shook her head.  _ It doesn’t matter. She has a right to know. I need her to know. I need her. _

 

Yang pushed open the door, and felt her heart stop at the sight.

 

Blake’s entire abdomen was in a cast, likely to treat broken ribs delivered from the solitary blow Yang had dealt her. Her left ankle was also in a splint, and Yang assumed it was at least sprained from her grab. Most haunting of all, however, was when Yang walked around to see Blake’s left arm. Blake had used that hand to place and detonate the explosion that gave her her new scar.

 

The resulting explosion had blown Blake’s entire left hand clean off.

 

Blake must have heard Yang gasp, because that was the moment she chose to stir. Her eyes fluttered open, fixating on Yang’s form. While her eyes initially went wide, she actually chuckled at her.

 

“So this is Hell,” Blake weakly spoke. “It’s a tad brighter than I’d’ve thought.”

 

Yang took a moment to process the statement, before laughing herself. “You’re not in Hell, Blake.” She took a seat next to the bed, on Blake’s right. “Though you got me pretty close. What was in that bomb?”

 

Blake laid her head back down on the pillow. “It isn’t like it matters.” She closed her eyes. “You can kill me whenever you want. Not like I can fight back.”

 

Yang chuckled briefly again to herself.  _ Every damn time _ . “I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to apologize.”

 

“What could you possibly have to apologize for,” Blake said. “What is a monster like you sorry for?”

 

Yang took a deep breath, before removing her helmet. Blonde hair nearly as long as it once was cascaded down her back. She put the helmet on the table, and took another deep breath.

 

“Everything.”

 

The sound of her unfiltered voice made Blake snap her eyes back open, and turn her head toward Yang. Within moments, tears began welling in her eyes. “ _ Yang… _ ”

 

Yang turned away from her gaze, clenching her fists. “I’m sorry. For doing this to you. For sending you out on this mission to save me. For everything.”

 

“This.... this really is Hell,” Blake spoke, horror in her voice. “This isn’t real. This is the devil mocking me, torturing me…” She attempted to bring her hands to her face, but stopped short upon seeing the bandage wrapped stump that was her left wrist. Yang braced herself for her panic, but Blake instead put her hands back down, and looked back at her. “This… is real. My hand is still gone. But you… you’re Stardust? You’re  _ alive _ ? How? Forget my bomb, how did you survive Adam?”

 

“I… I didn’t fight Adam Taurus,” Yang stammered, still looking away.

 

“We found your arm, your bike, and a red sword blade at that crossroad, Yang,” Blake said. “If that wasn’t Adam, then… who?”

 

“My mother, Raven Branwen.” Yang looked at her arms, before diverting her gaze again. “She beat me senseless. But she sent me to a place in the mountains that taught me how to become so strong I’m practically invincible.” She used her left hand to feel the still somewhat tender scar above her chest where the charge had detonated. “Practically being the operative word.”

 

“What… what did you do, Yang?” Blake asked.

 

“I was trained to use my emotion to control my aura. Channel my wrath into my aura, and spread it through my body instead of over it. It makes me stronger than I can believe, tougher, and makes me heal my injuries faster.” She screwed her eyes shut. “But tonight I realized the cost. My anger is flowing around me,  _ in _ me. It loosens my morals, my inhibitions, for the sake of sating it. And when we fought, I lost control completely. I lost sight of everything but killing you, to sate my anger towards you.” She let out a sob, pressing her hands to her eyes. “I’m just like him. I kill, I steal, I lie, and I fight to get what I want.” She finally looked at Blake, crimson meeting amber for the second time that night. “I’m afraid. Afraid of what happens when I snap and can’t come out of it.”

 

It was Blake who looked away. “You’re not the only one who walked that path.”

 

“Blake?” Yang asked.

 

“When you… died, two years ago… we buried you, Yang.” Blake stammered. “Right next to Summer on that cliff. Everyone took it bad. Taiyang went catatonic, Weiss drowned herself in work, and Ruby just… left. I still don’t know where she went. I left too. I left because I knew you weren’t dead. I tried to confront Adam, trying to either find you, or get vengeance.” She curled up as best she could in her state. “He… brutalized me. Tortured me. He taped everything, and sent it everywhere he could before cutting my throat.” She used her solitary hand to feel the scar on her neck. “I’m dead, to the world. They declared me dead after a week. It got to me. I used it as an excuse to not obey rules anymore. I tortured, killed, anything to get information towards you.” She chuckled in her hysterics. “Information they didn’t even fucking have. I did everything you did, looking for you.”

 

“Why?” Yang simply asked. “Why search for me?”

 

“Because I needed to apologize.” Blake said. “Because I left you behind, thinking selfishly that it’d protect you, keep you from getting hurt more for my sake. I left you because I wasn’t strong enough to face what I’d done to you, and it lead us both down paths we can’t walk back from.” Blake clutched her stump. “You’re not the only one who lost control tonight. I… was prepared to kill you for information you might not have even had.” She looked Yang in the eye. “What… what do we do, Yang? We can’t go back, not anymore.”

 

“Then we go forward, together,” Yang said, making Blake’s eyes widen. “We don’t stop. We keep fighting, and get our vengeance.” She looked away for a moment. “And once that’s done, maybe we can live like we used to.” Yang looked back to Blake. “I was mad at you, Blake, in another life. But now, I know that there’s noone to blame for what happened to me but myself, and that bastard in the mask. And I know he hurt you too.” She held out her hand. “I want to take him down. Take our lives back. And I want to do it with you.”

 

Blake hesitated. “How can you do that? Just forgive me, like it’s nothing, like I’m a person who deserves forgiveness?”

 

Yang’s hand didn’t move. “Because I know I don’t deserve it for what I’ve done either. I can’t say whether or not you deserve forgiveness, Blake. I’m not asking for yours either, the Gods know what I’ve done crosses more lines than there even are. But I know that I forgive you, Blake. And that I…” Yang paused. “That I almost killed the woman I’m in love with, and want to do anything I can to make it right.”

 

Blake’s eyes found a way to get even wider, her hesitation continuing for another moment, before she took Yang’s metal hand in her own flesh and blood one. “That’s funny, I was going to say the same thing.”

 

The two of them sat there for hours, not saying another word, simply holding onto each other, finally finding what they’d both been searching for for so long.


	9. Wheel of Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang brings Blake into the fold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute, hasn't it?
> 
> Well, I'm not dead. Not yet anyway. But between a combination of pretty bad mental health issues, and stress from finals time, my writing ability has been at a low lately. But, I had motivation, and this chapter has helped ease my anxiety.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this longer chapter!

**DRAGONS SYNDICATE TERRITORY - VALE ONE NATIONAL HOSPITAL**

 

**7:43 AM**

 

**2 YEARS SINCE THE FALL OF BEACON**

 

Yang and Blake had been sitting silently for hours, their hands clasped, simply drinking in the fact that they were together again. Yang had nodded off, and was only now stirring awake, due to Blake’s hand clamping onto her own. Yang looked up, finding Blake staring at the stump of her wrist, pain and worry on her face. Yang pushed the unpleasant memories that were beginning to resurface back down, and gently squeezed Blake’s hand.

 

“Hey,” Yang said softly, making Blake turn to her. “Are you okay?”

 

Blake paused for a moment. “I… I don’t think so…” she said, turning back to her missing hand. “I can still almost feel it. I can feel myself trying to move fingers, or make a fist, but there’s nothing. It… hurts.” She turned to Yang again. “Is that normal? Am I okay?”

 

Yang shushed her, taking hold of her hand in both of her own. “You’re okay, it’s perfectly normal. The same thing happened to me for a long time. It happens at night sometimes too, when I sleep.” She looked at the window, at the sunrise. “It still hurts when it’s cold, when the metal’s not warm from fighting. Dreams are weird, you may have both hands, then wake up with only one, and panic. It’s not easy.” Yang shook her head. “It’s not something that’ll just go away. It sucks, and it’s gonna suck for a long time.” Yang looked back at Blake, managing a soft smile. “Thankfully, you’ve got a bit more going for you than I did.”

 

“I do?” Blake asked.

 

“I’ve gone through the same thing, so I can tell you all the things that can make it easier. And Peter’s already working on a new hand for you, and it should be done within the week, so you won’t have to go without a hand for awhile. Your readjustment should be easier, since you’ll have more of your muscle memory retained. I’ll be here every step of the way to help. It’s the least I can do, for everything.”

 

Yang noticed the worry fade from Blake’s face, with her even managing a small smile. “Thank you, Yang.” She turned away from Yang, looking out the window. “It’s still so absurd to me that the woman we’ve all be fearing, doing writeups on, having conferences over, and planning assassinations for was you. You’re the leader of the biggest criminal organization on Remnant. How did you do this?”

 

“Intimidation, mostly,” Yang said. “It’s surprisingly very, very easy to get people to follow you when you’ve convinced an entire continent you’re an unkillable demon queen.” They both chuckled. “Though I may have cheated by performing something of a hostile takeover of the largest syndicate in Vale first.” Yang shook her head. “So, assassination plots?”

 

“They never got very far,” Blake admitted.

 

Yang laughed out loud, and felt her heart swell when Blake smiled at the sound. “So,” Yang asked, “how… how were the others before…” Yang drifted off, realizing where her question was going.

 

Blake’s smile faltered. “Before, we all got together, and it was great for a time. Weiss had gotten kidnapped by bandits, Ruby, Jaune, and the others had fought a host of unique grimm that were horrifying if their descriptions were accurate, and it was just good to see them all again. Qrow and Oscar vouched for us, and we were brought into the fold when it came to opposing the people who were behind the assault on Beacon.”

 

Yang paused, taking the story in. “Oscar?” She asked, finding the piece her mind was hitching on.

 

“Oscar, is… well…” Blake stammered, “he’s the reincarnation of Headmaster Ozpin inside the mind of a young farmhand.”

 

“You’re fucking with me,” Yang said.

 

“You’re able to survive having 9 inch wide holes blown through you, and you draw the line at reincarnation,” Blake deadpanned, narrowing her eyes.

 

“Fair enough,” Yang said with a chuckle.

 

“But, when you died…” Blake said, looking away, “we all just split up. I haven’t heard from any of them since I was pronounced dead, and that was over a year ago. I’m honestly surprised it didn’t reach Vale.” She looked back to Yang. “Should we tell them?”

 

“No,” Yang replied, almost too quickly. “If we’re dead, then the Fang isn’t preparing for us. Plus, two moderately famous huntresses coming back from the dead as criminals isn’t exactly a media story that’ll stay quiet when it breaks.”

 

Blake paused, but nodded her head. “You’re right, we have to play this close to the chest.”

 

“Speaking of, we need an alias for you,” Yang said. “If you’re gonna run with my boys, you’re gonna stand out, especially if we’re going to be… y’know…  _ close _ ,” Yang said, fighting the red creeping onto her face. “So we should play it up and make you a member the inner circle, who’ve all got aliases n’ shit.”

 

“It’s only now hitting me that you’re running a gang here,” Blake said. “I’ll give it some thought. When do I get to meet this ‘inner circle’ of yours?”

 

“Well, I’d prefer if you took me out to dinner first,” Yang said with a smile.

 

Blake turned bright red, a scowl finding its way onto her face. “ _ Really, right now? _ ”

 

Yang doubled over in laughter, wiping tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, managing to calm herself down. “In all seriousness, the tech they got here should have you out of here later today, you’d just have to take it easy for a bit. I’ll get you in our meeting tonight, then we can get started on getting us back into fighting shape.” 

 

“I think I’ll get some rest then,” Blake said.

 

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Yang said, beginning to stand up, but finding a hand around her wrist.

 

“Please, stay,” Blake said softly, almost in a whimper. “Please.”

 

Yang nodded, retaking her seat. She didn’t move, even long after Blake had begun snoring. Yang simply smiled.

 

_ It still hurts when it’s cold _ , Yang thought, feeling her prosthesis’ aches begin to soothe,  _ but it’s warm with you here with me. _

 

*****

“Should I be nervous?”

 

Blake’s sudden question right outside of the meeting room puzzled Yang, prompting her to tighten her hold on her left hand.

 

“Relax, I only let the most curated of hardened criminals into this part of the HQ,” Yang said with a smile. “Plus, you’ve got extra protection in case they shoot.”

 

Blake’s eyes narrowed in irritation. While she’d been able to leave the hospital, she had to wear a cast around her abdomen while her ribcage finished healing. It had meant she’d needed to borrow a plain shirt from Yang, thankful for it being a bit big on her for once. Blake’s gaze softened after a moment, her hand leaving Yang’s and moving to her stump. “What if they think I’m-”

 

“An invalid? A freak?” Yang said, making Blake quickly look to her in fear, only meeting Yang’s same, cocksure smile. “Trust me, they won’t. You managed to do something that no one’s been able to do in the past two years. You actually managed to beat me. Not even Kaz could do that, and he stabbed me through the chest.” Blake’s eyes went wide in shock. “Dude, it turned out fine. You did  _ way _ worse.”

 

“Still…” Blake said, looking away. “Will they want me here?”

 

“They don’t have much of a choice, really,” Yang said, “cause it’s my gang and I’ve made up my mind. But judging by how excited Power Tool is to meet you, I’d say you’ve got majority locked down.” Yang reached for the door handle. “Last chance. You ready?”

 

Blake hesitated, but nodded. “I am.”

 

“Good,” Yang said, before slamming the door open, making Blake’s expression widen in fear. Peter and Kaz both jumped in their chairs, quickly attempting to compose themselves. “Sup dickheads,” Yang asked them, “glad to see you know to shut doors around this joint now.”

 

“One of these days, my bloody heart’s gonna explode,” Peter said, shaking his head, “and you lot’ll need to find another genius.”

 

“Glad to see you’ve recovered, Lady- er, Yang,” Kaz said, bowing his head shortly.

 

“Please, Kaz,” Yang said, waving him off, “you should know firsthand holes in my chest don’t do much towards the whole killing thing.” Yang chuckled. “But, uh, Thanks. I actually would have probably died if you weren’t there,” she bashfully admitted, scratching the back of her head.

 

“I would apologize for disobeying orders and following you, but I worried for your mental state,” Kaz said.

 

“You were right to,” Yang said, before shaking her head. “Anyway, enough about me,” she said, turning to Blake. “Guys, this is-”

 

“Blake Belladonna,” Peter said, surprising Yang. “Last Ghira told me, you were home with him.”

 

“Councilor Velveteen,” Blake said, further deepening Yang’s confusion. “Dad had told me he knew the Dragons weren’t an enemy, but I hadn’t expected it was because he had an inside man.”

 

“Ghira doesn’t know I’m here,” Peter said, “we’ve been Anti-Fang for the entire time the gang’s been around, pretty vocally even.” He began thumping his foot rapidly against the ground. “And it’s Peter Scarlatina here.”

 

Blake chuckled. “I always thought Velvet’s accent was a tad too familiar to be coincidence.”

 

Peter, finally noticing Yang’s confusion, began to laugh himself. “Yang, you remember I was in the White Fang. I knew miss Belladonna. Her father was running the thing, after all.”

 

Yang thought for a moment, but felt the pieces fall together, turning to Blake. “Your father was the leader of the Fang before Khan.” Blake nodded. “And you knew Peter?”

 

Blake nodded again. “Yes, he was an old family friend. Though, I hadn’t seen him since you ‘died.’” Blake said, using her sole hand to make air quotes.

 

“Figured you would be privy to that,” Peter said. “Does Khan know?”

 

“No, I only learned after I’d made my mind up about leaving,” Blake said. “Knowing someone else had done it made it that much easier.”

 

Peter nodded, and Blake’s attention turned to the young man with white hair and familiar blue eyes that contrasted his dark skin. “You must be the one that saved us,” she said, scanning his metal-clad arms and hands. He quickly stood from his seat behind the table, and walked to Blake and Yang, bowing deeply in front of them.

 

“Yes, and I humbly apologize for the poor amputation I was forced to perform on your hand,” he said, talking rapidly. “It wasn’t possible to save and was easier to stifle the bloodflow by-”

 

“Kaz, relax,” Yang said. “Breath, and stand up for the Gods’ sake.” 

 

Kaz stood up, taking a deep breath. “I’m glad to see you both up and well so soon since the fight.” He bowed shortly once more. “My name is Kazakus Klay. It’s an honour to meet you, Miss Belladonna.”

 

“Likewise,” Blake said. “But, your eyes, there’s something… familiar.”

 

Kaz’s eyes briefly widened, before he etended his arm, his open palm facing upward. In it, a small Glyph manifested, a small flame emerging from it. “Yang was not lying when she described you as… ‘sleuthy’, as it were.”

 

Blake stared at the Glyph, before shaking her head, Yang imagined to clean the cobwebs of memories that were resurfacing. “You’re a Schnee.”

 

“Not per say,” Kaz said, extinguishing the flame and lowering his arm. “In my old life, I was Augustus Schnee, the bastard son to Jacques Schnee, born of drunken assault on my mother.” He raised his hands, Blake seeming to only now realize he had three fingers. “Now… now I serve Yang, and work towards my retribution.”

 

“Can we not use the term ‘serve’ around here?” Yang said. “You’re my partner in crime, Kaz. You answer to me for your paycheck, not your life.”

 

Blake, however, was fixated on his hands, taking one into his hand. “You’re a faunus,” she spoke softly. “Where are your wings?” She noticed him wince, and withdraw his hands. Blake quietly gasped to herself. “Oh Gods…”

 

Kaz nodded, and shut his eyes, before opening them wide as Yang wrapped her arm around him, with the other around Blake. “That’s the past,” Yang spoke softly. “And why do we look at the wrongs of the past?”

 

“So that we know what to take back,” Kaz replied, his smile returning, making Blake return the smile. “Thank you, Lad-, er, Yang.”

 

“You’ll get it eventually, buddy,” Yang chuckled, before hearing the door open, and seeing another familiar face enter the room.

 

“Yang?” Emerald asked, walking into the boardroom. “Junior said you would-” she froze, having made eye contact with Blake, whose eyes immediately warped into images of anger. She used her hand to pull Yang’s gun from her waist, and dash forward, wrapping her handless arm around Emerald’s waist before pointing the barrel of the gun against the bottom of her jaw.

 

“How  _ dare _ you show your face in Vale again after what you did!” Blake screamed. “After you hurt Yang! After you killed Penny!”

 

“BLAKE!” Yang shouted, grabbing hold of Blake’s hand and tearing the gun out of it. “Blake, she’s with us, let her go.”

 

Blake’s fiery gaze turned to Yang, but saw the pleading in her eyes. Blake released Emerald, who stumbled and fell backward, breathing heavily. Yang immediately got down on her knees in front of her, looking her in the eye.

 

“Hey, hey look at me,” Yang said softly, pulling Emerald’s attention to her. “You’re okay. You’re at the HQ, you’re safe. You hear me?”

 

Emerald nodded slowly. “I’m here.”

 

“You’re okay, Em,” Yang said, helping her up. “Kaz and PT are gonna take you back to the bar, ok?”

 

Emerald nodded, and Kaz and Peter walked to her, taking her outside the room and shutting the door behind her. Yang replaced the gun on her hip, and walked back to Blake. Blake felt her blood run cold, but felt herself enveloped in an embrace. “I’m sorry,” Yang said. “I wasn’t thinking about her. I should have told you, I’m sorry.”

 

Blake returned the hug, before stepping back. “It’s okay, I believe you. I just… panicked. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s not your fault, ok?” Yang shook her head. “Emerald… she’s been through a lot. Cinder had tricked her into an abusive relationship. She played her like a damned fiddle, and burned her when she wanted out. I didn’t give her that scar, Blake.” Yang sighed. ‘She came to me looking to die. I decided to take her in, train her, help her work towards redemption.” She turned back to Blake. “You don’t have to forgive her, but be gentle with her, okay? She’s… she needs help, Blake. And I know I’m not the best person to be giving that help, but I have to do something,  _ anything _ . I…” She looked at her hand. “I know what it’s like to be where she is. And I’ll be dead and buried before anyone I know has to suffer in a prison of their own mind. Nobody deserves that hell.” She clenched her metal fist. “At least, no one deserves to face it alone.”

 

It was Blake’s turn for a surprise embrace, spooking Yang a little bit. “You’re a good person, Yang,” Blake said, smiling at her.

 

Yang sniffled, smiling back. “There’s a room full of  _ very _ cold dead guys in the back that’d say otherwise.”

 

Blake shook her head. “Let it never be said that in your transition from huntress to mob boss, your ability to ruin any moment was lost.”

 

Yang laughed aloud. “C’mon,” she said, pulling Blake along. “I want you to meet Emerald, for real this time.” She paused, turning back to Blake. “Is that okay?”

 

Blake faltered for a moment, but regained herself. “Yes,” she said. “I want to apologize.” She smiled at Yang again. “And more importantly, I want to help.” She brought her hand to her neck, feeling the grisly scar along it. “I know what she’s going through too.”

 

Yang grinned ear to ear, and opened the door, leading Blake out towards Emerald and the others.

 

*****

 

“How were you able to do that?”

 

Blake’s question to Yang as they walked through the back halls of the bar caught her off guard. “Do what?”

 

“Calm her down like that,” Blake said, pangs of guilt still in her system. “You talked to her like a professional.”

 

Yang stopped, sighing. “When recovery first started, when I was using my old prosthetic in my backyard with Dad, every now and then I’d have a moment where everything was just… collapsing. I’d see burning Beacon, I’d see Adam, I’d see… you.” She looked back at Blake, seeing worry coat her face. “When that happened, my Dad would always remind me where I was, get me to see I was here, and that I was safe. It helps with attacks like that, to slow down and try to get your bearings. Helps the mind realize what’s real and what’s not.” She saw Blake’s worry deepen on her face. “Don’t worry, it hasn’t happened in a good while.” It was a lie, but she couldn’t tell Blake about that. Not yet.

 

“Yang,” Blake started, “I’m-”

 

“No,” Yang interrupted, placing a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Not now.”

 

“Yang, we have to talk about this,” Blake said. “About…  _ us _ .”

 

“And we will,” Yang said. “I promise, we will. But right now, there’s a friend in need we should be talking to.”

 

Blake paused, but eventually nodded. “Let’s go.”

 

Yang nodded back, turning and continuing to walk. “Now,” she began, “If I were a betting woman, and I am, it’s why I had to hire a treasurer, I’d wager that they took her to the green room. I soundproofed it, so we take people back there when they need protection.”

 

“Protection?” Blake asked.

 

“Please, we run a bar,” Yang said with a chuckle. “You know how many crazy exes or drunk assholes we get in here? Plus it's good for when you need to sober up.” They stopped in front of a door labeled ‘GREEN ROOM’ “You ready?”

 

Blake took a deep breath, instinctively clutching her stump as it began to ache. “Yes, let’s go”

 

Yang nodded at her, and the two entered the room, seeing Emerald and Kaz sitting on a couch, Kaz keeping a watchful eye on them. Seeing them come in, he turned to them, allowing himself a soft smile. He whispered something Yang and Blake couldn’t hear to Emerald, before walking up to them.

 

“She’s okay, and wants to talk to you,” He said, gesturing back to the couch. “She’s still somewhat rattled, though.”

 

“Thanks, Kaz,” Yang said, pulling him into a brief hug before letting him go. “I assume PT went down to the sublab to work on the surprise?”

 

Kaz nodded. “He said he’s getting close, maybe another few days of work. I’m going to go spar with the grunts.”

 

Yang chuckled. “The new boys could use some breaking in. Go easy on em, but fuck the bald one up, he’s been giving the girls weird eyes all night.”

 

Kaz chuckled back, before departing, leaving Yang and Blake alone in the green room with Emerald. Yang nodded her head towards the chairs, and she walked with Blake to them. Yang took a seat next to Emerald on the Sofa, while Blake sat opposite them in a chair, her hand clasping around her stump again. Emerald looked up, and met Blake’s gaze.

 

“I’m sorry,” Emerald muttered, her eyes shutting and shaking her head. “There’s..., there’s no excuse for what I’ve done.”

 

“No, I apologize,” Blake said, making Emerald look to her. “I reacted in a panic, fearing for my life. I wasn’t justified in my action.”

 

“But you were!” Emerald shouted. “It was my fault that your school fell!” She dropped her head, pulling her knees up against her chest. “It was my semblance that set everything in motion. I let Cinder get the Maiden’s powers. I made Yang hurt Merc. I made the Redhead kill the robot girl. It’s… it’s all my fault. She played me like a fucking fool.”

 

Emerald curled up tighter, but tensed when she felt something on her knee, fully expecting a reprimand for her sins. Instead she found a calming touch, one that made her look up to see Blake placing her one hand onto her knee, leaving her own injury unattended. She spoke, and the tone was the opposite Emerald expected. “It’s not your fault. Trust me. I know what it’s like, to be manipulated by someone you love.”

 

“Adam…” Emerald whispered.

 

Blake nodded. “We’d known eachother since we were young. We kinda just, fell together. I did all these things with him, feeling like they were right. But they weren’t.” Blake shook her head. “I did hideous things. I killed, I stole, and I destroyed. But it wasn’t for me, it wasn’t for my kind, it was for  _ him _ . When I realized that, I had to go.” She looked at Yang, and found herself smiling. “And it took a long time, the longest three years of my life, but I got to a point where I realized I can’t blame myself. I can’t ignore the wrong I’ve done, but I can’t think that it’s my fault, or anyone’s but his.” She looked back to Emerald. “It wasn’t your fault Emerald. She manipulated you, hurt you, then threw you away before you could get out. It isn’t your fault.”

 

Emerald shook her head. “It doesn’t make me deserve a second chance.”

 

“Who said anything about any of us deserving this second chance?” Yang suddenly interjected, making both of the other girls turn to her. “Yeah, we’ve all done some pretty bad shit. But we know it’s wrong, and that means we can work towards fixing it, and earning redemption. Maybe not in the eyes of the world, but maybe someone else. Maybe our own? The Gods’?” She shook her head with a chuckle. “Em, Blake, you two, and everyone else here, we’re here ‘cause we know no one else is gonna listen to us. We’re not good people. But we’re people trying to make the world better, even if it’s just for us here.” She smiled wide. “Even if the Dragon burns the village to the ground, they’re the one that’s sitting on the big pile of loot at the end of the day.”

 

Blake and Emerald both nodded, Emerald managing a smile. “Thank you, thank you both.”

 

Yang rose from her seat. “It’s what I do. Rest up Em, your training starts tomorrow.”

 

Emerald nodded, exiting the room. Yang then turned back to Blake. “Come on,” she said, beckoning Blake to the door.

 

“Where?” Blake asked.

 

“My office,” Yang said. “You wanted to have that talk. Let’s get it out of the way.”

 

*****

 

Blake peered around the office as they entered, shutting the door behind her. The office was like something she’d seen in movies, with windows looking down onto the bar floor, and a large window-wall behind her desk. While the room was lined with shelves, there were only a couple that were filled with books, and their spines with hand-written labels suggested more that they were ledgers or records than actual texts. What populated the shelves in greater quantity were what looked like weapons, all kinds of blades, guns, and pieces of broken weapons Blake could only assume Yang’d broken herself, with some even mounted to bare spaces on the walls. To Blake, it almost looked like…

 

_ A Trophy room _ … Blake thought, taking a seat in one of the chairs facing  Yang’s large desk. On it sat a computer, amongst scattered files, a few empty bottles of what Blake recognized as expensive name-brand sake, and one bottle that was closer to full, that Yang poured into two glasses she pulled from under the desk, before thinking for a moment, and keeping both to herself and handing Blake a bottle of water from underneath the desk.

 

“Painkillers and alcohol don’t mix well,” Yang said, slamming her drink. She reached for the other, but felt Blake’s hand stop her.

 

“Yang, slow down,” Blake said.

 

Yang remained still for a moment, her eyes still fixed on the glass. “Why?”

 

“Because I want to talk,” Blake said, “and I don’t need you drunk for that.”

 

Yang chuckled. “You think two glasses is enough to get me drunk?”

 

“That’s not the point,” Blake said, her tone and expression turning sterner. “You know that.”

 

The smile vanished from Yang’s face, and she set the glass aside. “You’re right.” Yang shook her head.

 

They made eye contact, seeing the pain in eachother’s eyes.

 

“Yang-”

 

“Blake-”

 

They both immediately stop short. Yang breaks the eye contact, turning away. “You first.”

 

“Why… why haven’t your eyes turned back?” Blake said. “You said they only turn red when you’re angry.”

 

“It’s… it’s because of this power I hold,” Yang said, looking at her hands. “My anger affects me. My body, and my mind.” Yang’s mind swirled with flashbacks to that night, to the images she saw, the voices she heard.

 

“Yang-”

 

“No,” Yang said. “This isn’t something to apologize for. I was the one who sold my soul.”

 

“Because I wasn’t there!” Blake shouted, banging her fist on the table. “I abandoned you when you needed me, and you… you fell down this path.”

 

“I had to get stronger,” Yang said. “To get vengeance. To take my life back.”

 

“You’re hurting,” Blake said, making Yang look back to her. “You’re trying to hide it, behind these facades of strength and anger, but you’re hurting.” Blake reached out, taking Yang’s flesh and blood hand into her own. “You lied to me in the hallway. I could tell. You’re still having these flashbacks.”

 

Yang’s eyes shut tight again, and she turned back away. “So what?”

 

“So let me help you.” Blake clenched her hand around Yang’s.

 

“What if I don’t want the help?” Yang suddenly snapped. “What if your hunch is wrong?”

 

“Yang…” Blake said, looking hurt. “Did you… did you really mean what you said back there? About you not deserving a second chance?”

 

“Of course I did!” Yang shouted, tearing her hand from Blake’s grip. “What about me makes me deserve another chance? I killed, I stole, and I embarrassed the Hunt into inactivity! What about that makes me deserve another chance?” She slammed her fists on the desk. “I’ve been handed nothing but second chances since I picked myself up. I turned the wrong way at the fork. I let my mother convince me that the path of the Demon was right. I let Tatara teach me a power that poisoned my mind. I slew a friend in cold blood. And I would have killed you, if I hadn’t made a mistake.”

 

“What’re you-”

 

“When I pointed the gun at you, when you were prone,” Yang said, turning completely around. “I-I pulled the trigger. The gun was out. You would have been dead if I hadn’t miscounted. Even this second chance I have now, standing here with you, I don’t deserve.”

 

“But you do deserve it,” Blake said. “You got back up after each mistake, ready to correct it.”

 

“If getting up and trying again was all it took, everyone’d be a hero, Blake,” Yang said, still looking out the window. “I’m not the kind of person that gets real second chances. I’m not the hero of this story, or any story. I get people from point a to point b, and do things inbetween.  I’m no knight in shining armour. I’m the dragon in the cave. The knight can’t get their glory without me, but in the end, I don’t get glory. I don’t get redemption. Because I’m not a good enough person to deserve it.” She clenched her fists, striking the window with her right, cracking the reinforced glass.”I manipulate people into following me, spouting things about taking lives back. But there’s nothing to take back. Not for any of us. We have nothing to go back to, nothing to take back. So we’re just taking. We’re schoolyard bullies that can punch holes in mountains.”

 

“No,” Blake said. “You can be more than that.”

 

_ But you don’t deserve to _ .

 

Yang’s eyes shot open, as she heard her own mocking voice. She looked up at the window, and where her worried reflection would be, stood the Yang from two years ago, with two arms, smirking like a madwoman.

 

_ You don’t want to be more _ , the reflection said.  _ Because you know it’s not your life _ .

 

_ This is your life now.  _

 

_ The life of a demon.  _

 

_ You chose this. _

 

“S-stop,” Yang whimpered.

 

“Yang?” Blake asked.

 

_ You chose this! _

 

“Stop!” Yang spat, her visage twisting into anger.

 

“Yang!” Blake shouted back.

 

_ YOU CHOSE THIS! _

 

“ **GET OUT OF MY HEAD!** ” Yang shrieked, reeling back and shattering the window with her metal fist. Shards of glass became mixed with the sound of the rain that had started falling at some point, contrasting the burning pyre that Yang’s hair had become. She huffed, holding the pose, until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun on her heel ready to strike, only to see Blake, wincing in fear, her arms blocking the strike she knew was coming.

 

_ Oh Gods, _ Yang thought.  _ I was going to kill her _ .

 

_ You were _ , the reflection said, staring at her from the side of the glass that had fallen on its side.

 

_ Because you’re a demon, _ her face in the computer monitor said.

 

_ You’re a monster who does nothing but kill to further its own ambition,  _ the glass shards that had fallen on a nearby shelf said.

 

“Yang?” Blake said, making her look back, into pained amber eyes.

 

_ You can never have love,  _ the Yang in Blake’s eye said.

 

_ You can only have Wrath. _

 

Yang didn’t know when she’d started running. Or when she’d put her mask on. Or when she’d gotten into a car, and driven it to the piers. All she knew was that there was a place she needed to see. 

 

She needed to lay Yang Xiao Long to rest. Dead Women sleep best in their tombs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yeah, I'll admit, not updating for a month, and leaving you on that is kinda rude. But to be fair, the wait til the next chapter won't be nearly as long.
> 
> Feedback would be appreciated, and I hope you all enjoyed it!


	10. The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stardust finds herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late, and finals are stressful.
> 
> Now that the usual song and dance is out of the way, this is one I've been sitting on for awhile, unsure if i should put it up, but I eventually decided it was the best i'd ever be able to do this scene.
> 
> It's dark, and quite messed up, but I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> I'm currently on break and focusing on my writing, so expect a new chapter soon, maybe even before Christmas. If that's not the case, then happy holidays to all!

**PATCH - GRAVE OF SUMMER ROSE**

**4:21 AM**

**2 YEARS SINCE THE FALL OF BEACON**

 

Stardust was thankful that the rain had stopped. The rain had always made her prosthesis softly ache, and while it wasn’t enough to really bother her, it was one less thing she had on her mind. She needed her mind to be free and open, at least as much as it could be. 

 

_ She _ tended to be louder when there wasn’t anything else there to distract Stardust from her.

 

Stardust finally reached the clearing she’d been walking for, and felt emotions begin to rise that she quickly quashed. She’d been to this hill in her past life several times, setting flowers on the lone gravestone, supporting her sister while she spoke to their late mother. But today, Stardust wasn’t here to mourn her mother. She was here for the other, newer headstone that lay next to it.

 

_ Yang Xiao Long - Yet Still I Burn _

 

Stardust stood there for a moment, reading the epitaph, until a familiar voice rang out only in her head.

 

_ Pretty fitting, ain’t it? _

 

Stardust looked up, and saw the girl that should have been buried in front of her. Yang looked like she did when she’d first entered Beacon, both her flesh and blood hands resting on her hips, a cock-sure grin on her face that slowly twisted into a malicious sneer.  _ You really are still burning, aren’t you. Had a good crash while you were at it. _

 

“You’re not real,” Stardust spat. “Get out of my head.”

 

_ See, I would _ , Yang said, _ but it’s just way too much fun messing with you. Er, me? I dunno. _

 

“You can see it for yourself, Yang Xiao Long is dead and buried,” Stardust said, gesturing to the grave at her feet. “Now lie down and be quiet.”

 

_ But is she really dead? _ Another, yet similar voice said,  _ or is that just what you want? _

 

Stardust turned, only to see another Yang to her left. This Yang looked far less muscular, and was missing her right arm, the sleeve tied off in a knot. It was when she was at home, stewing in her own self pity. Stardust couldn’t help but make contact with her own lifeless eyes, seeing the same, evil sneer. 

 

_ Yang Xiao Long already tried laying down and dying _ , Sad-Yang said.  _ It wasn’t very enjoyable. _

 

_ Yeah,  _ Happy-Yang said,  _ Bored the living shit outta me _ .

 

“Shut up!” Stardust growled. 

 

_ It’s clear all you want is this alias you created,  _ Sad-Yang said,  _ and that you don’t want to think about what you left behind. _

 

_ Yeah, I mean you did sorta abandon everyone _ , Happy-Yang said _ , even your family. _

 

“I have no family!” Stardust snarled. “A Demon has no family!”

 

_ Yeah, you don’t have anything, do you? _ A third voice joined the other two hallucinations, and this time Stardust turned to see Yang as she was when she left Patch, complete with her original prosthetic and same, angry sneer.  _ You left it all behind just to throw everything away in your little angst-fueled fistfight with mommy _ .

 

“Yang Xiao Long died that day,” Stardust said, “so stay buried!”

 

_ She didn’t _ , Angry-Yang said.  _ You wanted her to, you needed her to, but she didn’t. _

 

_ She just got angrier, and angrier,  _ Sad-Yang said, _ until she thought she was strong enough to face everything again. _

 

_ But now all she is is a scared little girl in a mask _ , Happy-Yang said _ , aintcha? _

 

Stardust’s head was beginning to spin. “What.. what are you…”

 

_ Ghosts _ , Happy-Yang said.  _ Well, not really ghosts, but more like… immortal reminders. Yeah that sounds cool. _

 

_ Here to remind you of what you were,  _ Sad-Yang said.

 

_ And who you’ve become, _ Angry-Yang said, before the three drifted together, forming a unified being. Now, in front of Stardust, stood a perfect reflection of herself, Stardust in all her current glory. Same ugly scars, same freakish proportions, same nightmarish arm, and same fearsome mask.

 

_ You traded all of us, all of everything, for this, _ the revenant said.  _ You became this monster. A Demon. But at your core- _

 

“Let me guess,” Stardust said. “Still just Yang?”

 

The ghost snickered.  _ Something like that, _ it said, before taking off its mask. The face underneath it made Yang’s blood run cold. It was not her face underneath it

 

It was her mother. Raven Branwen.

 

“No!” Stardust shouted. “I am not her!”

 

_ Really?  _ Raven-Yang said.  _ Same freakish strength, same Demon powers, same face, same eyes, same motivations and lifestyles. You even both share the same critical weakness. You both build these fortresses of personality, either wrath or hatred, when in reality, deep down, all you are is a coward. One too scared to face any problem she can’t solve with her fists. _

 

“N-no…” Stardust stammered. “That's n-not..”

 

_ You’re realizing it now, aren’t you? _ Raven-Yang sneered that same, haunting sneer.  _ You did all this for revenge against her, against everyone, but you played right into her hands. You followed the path of Demon-shaped breadcrumbs she laid, and you were molded into the perfect Demon. One ready to be manipulated into a perfect servant once her mind snapped under the stress.  _ She chuckled.  _ Assuming she’s not already doing it. Maybe she got to Blake? Can you really trust a girl who left you behind, but is now so ready to come back?  _

 

“S-stop it…” Stardust whimpered, collapsing to her hands and knees. “I’m…”

 

_ What? You’re Stardust? What even is Stardust? A Demon? A Woman? Or something so embarrassingly inept that it can’t even explain itself? _

 

“I-I’m a… Demon…” Stardust said, looking up at the ghost. “Like you said I was. Like you  _ haunted  _ me to be.”

 

_ You are a Demon, _ Raven-Yang said, leaning down to meet Yang’s eyes, crimson to crimson,  _ but I will never let you forget what you abandoned. What you became. And how when all is said and done, you will have nothing left. _ Raven-Yang looked up, and saw something in the brush as the sounds of twigs snapping broke the silence. She chuckled, and turned away.  _ Remember, ‘Stardust’. Remember as you cry into her shoulder, and she tells you everything will be okay. Remember today. Remember me. And remember one thing. You chose this. _

 

“Yang?”

 

Stardust flinched. For the first time in what felt like forever, she heard a voice other than her own.

 

“Yang,” Blake repeated, worry evident in her tone. “What’s happening to you?”

 

Stardust stood, still facing away from Blake as her coat flapped loudly in the wind. She looked over her shoulder, seeing Blake with a face of great pain. Her hand and stump were jammed into the pockets of a Dragons jacket she’d apparently borrowed. It looked good on her, Stardust thought, trying desperately to think of anything but what she should.

 

“What are you doing here?” Stardust said, her voice cold and filtered.

 

“I had a feeling you’d come here,” Blake said, taking a step into the clearing, making Stardust turn away again. “Yang, let me help you.  _ Please _ .”

 

Stardust’s thoughts were swimming, trying desperately to surface for air, but all they were doing was drowning in the toxicity of her own poisoned mind.

 

“The time for help was a long, long time ago,” Stardust deadpanned, looking at the headstone. “I’m ruined. A product of a self destructive crusade that’s past the point of no return. All I can do is go forward, until I crash and burn away.”

 

Blake took another hesitant step forward. “Do you really want that?” Blake asked softly. “Is that… really what you want, Yang? For me too leave?”

 

“It’s not about what Yang wants, it’s about what I need,” Stardust said. “And what I need is vengeance. Closure. Death.”

 

“You need  _ help _ Yang-”

 

“ _ What Yang wants doesn’t matter anymore! _ ” Stardust finally snapped, turning and slamming her foot down with enough force to dent the ground. “I left her behind when I decided  _ this _ was my path! The path of the Demon!” She slapped her hand against her chest. “ _ I CHOSE THIS! _ ”

 

“Did you?” Blake asked. “Did you really choose this, Yang? Choose the hallucinations, the pain, the misery?”

 

Stardust paused for a moment, taken aback slightly. “It… It doesn’t matter now. I made my choice. I chose this. This is the only life for me now.” She turned away, facing the ocean. “I’ll keep fighting. I’ll get my vengeance. Then… Then maybe I can die. Maybe I’ll deserve death.”

 

Stardust closed her eyes underneath her helmet, but snapped them open when she felt an impact on her back. She turned, and found Blake, with an angry scowl, tears in her eyes, her fist pressed against Stardust’s back in a strike.

 

“How dare you say that?” Blake said. “How dare the woman who told me about her mother, and how she nearly died obsessing over it say that?” She punched Stardust again. “How dare the woman who told me to keep moving forward, even in the face of our own misfortune say that?” She struck again. “How dare the woman who took Emerald Sustrai in after what she did, and supported a woman so beaten, manipulated, and hurt say that?” Blake tried to strike again, but collapsed into a pile of her own sobs. “How dare the woman who I fell in love with for being so unbreakable fall to pieces like she doesn’t matter to anyone but herself?”

 

Stardust didn’t know what do do. What to say. “I… I…”

 

“You  _ WHAT? _ ” Blake shrieked. “You chose this? Did I choose Adam manipulating me? Did Emerald choose to have her mind twisted by Cinder?” Blake shook her head. “What happened to you happened because of  _ me! _ Because I ran like the coward I am instead of being there when you needed me. I left you behind, and you died for it. And then I died looking for you, knowing that Yang Xiao Long wouldn’t break like that. She  _ couldn’t _ . She  _ wouldn’t _ . She was unbreakable. And then I find you, and you’re in so many pieces you won’t let anyone start to try and help you put them back together.” Blake stood back up, and hugged Yang as tight as she could. “I’m not going to leave you behind again. I can’t. I won’t. You said the Dragons was about correcting our mistakes. This is mine, the mistake I regret more than anything, is letting someone I love so deeply fall when they were depending on my to help them up. So please,  _ please _ , Yang, let me help.  _ Please,”  _ Blake said, softly crying into Stardust’s shoulder.

 

Stardust was still for a moment, before she shook off Blake’s embrace, making Blake go wide eyed. Before Blake could react, Yang turned around, and lowered her hood before removing her mask. Blonde hair spilled out and began to sway in the wind, and Stardust looked at her mask, before reeling back and hurling it off the cliff as hard as she could. She held the pose for a moment, before collapsing completely as the helmet splashed into the water. She turned back to Blake, and for the first time in almost three years, Violet met Amber.

 

“Blake,” Yang said, “I’m… I’m sorry.” She grabbed onto Blake, and cried into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Blake cried with her, holding on like if she let go, Yang would float away. “I’m sorry too.”

 

“Please,” Yang said, “please help me. It hurts… this anger, this pain, all of it. It hurts and I don’t know what to do.”

 

“I know, but it’s okay,” Blake said softly. “It’s going to be okay. Do you know why?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you know you need help,” Blake said, “and that’s the hardest part, is admitting you need it.”

 

Yang simply took the information in, sitting there for several minutes, simply holding onto Blake, until she broke the silence with soft words.

 

“H-hey, Blake?” Yang said, “did you mean what you said, about… loving me? Here and back before, at the hospital?”

 

Blake leaned back, to look Yang in the eye. “Every word.”

 

“But… why?” Yang asked. “Why me? I’m so-”

 

“You’re not,” Blake said, cutting her off. “Whatever you’re about to say, if it’s broken or evil or bad for me or anything, you’re not that. You’re anything but that. You’re smart, caring, loving, and beautiful, and even if life isn’t good now, the sun always rises.”

 

For the first time in a long time, Yang felt a genuine, loving smile pointed at her, and felt one on her own lips. “I think… I think I love you too, if that’s okay.”

 

Blake giggled, easing Yang’s tension ever so slightly. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Blake looked at her, and smiled wide.

 

The sight made Yang chuckle, even laugh a little. “Yeah, that was a stupid question, huh?” The both shared a brief moment of laughter, Yang wiping her eyes. “Can… can I ask another?”

 

“Sure,” Blake said.

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

Blake’s eyes initially widened, making Yang anxiou again, before Blake quickly closed the distance, and gently kissed her. Yang hesitated for a moment, before kissing back, closing her own eyes as they simply drunk in the moment. After what was both an eternity and not nearly long enough, the broke apart, looking into each other’s eyes.

 

They sat in silence for a moment, before Yang broke apart from Blake, and stood up, walking toward the other grave stone.

 

_ Summer Rose - Thus Kindly I Scatter _

 

“Hey, mom,” Yang spoke softly, bringing a smile to both hers and Blake’s faces. “I’m sorry, if you’ve been watching. It’s been bad, these last two years. I… I lost my path. I got caught up in my own anger. It’s not like other things, other issues. Wrath doesn't always build a prison in your head. Sometimes it's the most lavish palace you've ever seen, so luxurious you'll never want to leave. You're still trapped inside, but at least the curtains look nice enough for you not to care.” Yang looked back at Blake, her smile widening. “But I care again. I’m gonna get better, just you watch. I’ll get strong again, and I’ll find Ruby. I’ll become someone you can be proud of again. That’s a promise.” She walked back to Blake, helping her to her feet. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

 

Blake nodded, threading her hand into Yang’s as they walked. “You’re wrong, you know.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“She’s already proud of you,” Blake said, making Yang smile, and the last of her tension ease away.

 

Only to creep right back up.

 

“Shit,” Yang said, “you think PT’s gonna be pissed I threw his helmet into the ocean?”

 

Blake paused, but simply started, laughing, and it wasn’t long until Yang joined her, the pair guffawing their way all the way back to the docks.


	11. Strength Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang and Blake re-arm themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was gonna be a single chapter, but was becoming such a behemoth that I opted to split it here. Expect part 2 soonish.

**DRAGONS SYNDICATE HEADQUARTERS**

**5:45 PM**

**2 YEARS SINCE THE FALL OF BEACON**

 

“You threw it in the fuckin’  _ ocean _ ?”

 

Yang and Blake both chuckled at Peter’s frustration. They all stood in Peter’s lab at the headquarters, at the behest of the mechanic. Apparently he had finished the ‘surprise’, and he had wanted them both there. The two women were bemused at the old man’s fuming, though they understood it.

 

“C’mon, old man, lay off,” Yang said. “It was a symbolic thing.”

 

“Don’t you  _ old man _ me Boss!” Peter said, shaking his head. “Whatever, come on.” He turned to walk to his bench, before turning back quickly. “And give me your arm!”

 

Yang and Blake turned to look at each other briefly, before Yang unclasped her arm from her stump and handed it to Peter, who hefted it on top of his bench, before grabbing something else, that looked like a bracer of some kind, around the size of Yang’s old Ember Celica when deployed, but much sleeker in design, and black in colour.

 

“Blake,” Peter said, his tone softening. “This is the prosthetic hand I designed for you, but it comes with a fair bit of baggage.” He turned it over, revealing the connector port, and how it differed from Yang’s. “This prosthetic will automatically integrate into your nervous system, but it won’t come off, unless we amputate more of the arm.”

 

“Why on Remnant does it need to do that?” Yang asked.

 

“Blake’s amputation point has complications when it comes to prosthesis,” Peter said. “For one, clip-ons like yours weigh considerably more than surgical ones, and because of it only being the hand that’s replaced, it would place a large weight at the end of the arm, complicating balance, tension, joint stress, and a whole mess of other things, basically adding another three months to your rehab, which we can all agree isn’t the best idea.” Blake and Yang both looked at each other, before nodding. “Second, the wrist is a very, very common strike point for swordfighting, something Blake and several of your enemies seem to prefer. A clip-on would be at the risk of detaching during key moments of battle. And third, the tech inside this hand requires pretty much uninterrupted aura supply for it to work right.”

 

“But,” Yang said, bending down to get a better look at the device, “what  _ does _ it do? Where’s the hand?”

 

Peter just chuckled, before attaching some wires on his desk to it, and linking those same wires to the band around his own wrist. Within a few moments, various wires and cords rapidly emerged from the bracer, forming a hand out of them, before a layer of what looked like liquid metal covered it, creating a jointed, hardened prosthetic. As Blake and Yang gasped in wonder, Peter simply chuckled. “Meet the Scarlatina Automated Repair Artificial Intelligent Arm, or the S.A.R.A.I.A for short. Though, it really could use a proper name.” 

 

“What on Remnant…” Blake said, her mouth agape.

 

“Yeah, what the fuck is that?” Yang asked.

 

“It’s an advanced A.I. I’d been working on for other projects, but lacked a real reason to implement it,” Peter said, making the hand flex with his thoughts. “The A.I. has three main directives that it follows; Repair its construct, improve the construct based on past faults, and protect the host. It’s a learning A.I., and as you fight with it, it’ll change form, to better suit what you’re using it for.”

 

“Wait, reconstruct?” Yang said.

 

“Yeah,” Peter said, pulling a hammer off the wall. “Observe,” he said, before clattering the prosthetic with it. The hammer took a large chunk out of the palm of the hand, the metal clattering to the ground and seemingly evaporating. As Yang and Blake began to sputter questions and obscenities, they were silenced as more of those same wires from before slithered from the gaping wound in the hand, knit back the missing section, and covered it in the same shiny metal as the rest within seconds. Both girls had their jaws hanging at the spectacle, with Blake finally breaking the silence.

 

“How… just… how?” she muttered.

 

“Aura is a weird, weird thing with weird reactive properties,” Peter said. “In this case, it’s acting as a temporary alloy bond with the rest of the metals, turning them from the liquid state they’re stored in inside the bracer into the solid forms, and manipulating them to the A.I.’s instruction. The system has internal storage, but it can also coat your arm in the excess as both additional storage and protection. The most important part, and something I’ve been working on for some time, is the integration system.” Before either Blake or Yang could ask what it meant, he grabbed a small block of iron from beside the hand on the desk. “The alloy is made up of a few common metals, namely Iron, Titanium, and Steel. If the system is holding metal and detects one of those metals inside of it, you can integrate it into the system.” He placed the block of iron in the prosthetic hand, and it began to dissolve into nothingness. “The system breaks it down into a liquid and stores it internally or on your arm, and can even sever bonds in alloys in order to siphon metal off them. Regardless, you’ll absolutely ruin anything you integrate, so do it wisely.” He disconnected the wires, and the hand disassembled itself and retracted into the bracer. He took it into his hands, and looked at Blake. “This is a culmination of many of my greatest achievements that could never exist in a world that isn’t at war. It is an evil weapon, not a medical tool.”

 

“But this is a world at war,” Blake interjected, making Peter’s eyes snap open for a moment. “I decided the moment that I learned from Yang what the purpose of the Dragons was that I’d commit, body and soul, to it, and to conquering my demons. My soul belongs to Yang,” She undid the bandages on her stump, and held it out to Peter, “so my body needs to be ready to follow her into Hell.”

 

Peter nodded, before pulling a chair over. “You may wanna sit down, kid. This’ll hurt like Hell.”

 

Blake nodded back, and took the seat, as Peter slotted the bracer onto her arm. Within a few seconds, the bracer molded flush against her forearm, and Blake winced and began to shout in pain as the prosthesis integrated itself into her nervous system. Yang immediately shouted and reached out to her, but Blake put out her hand, and looked into Yang’s eyes.

 

Yang’d never seen fire like that in eyes that weren’t in a mirror.

 

After nearly a minute, Blake felt the pain cease, and looked down to see her entire arm up the elbow was coated in the metal she’d seen earlier. The bracer had changed its form slightly from when she’d looked at it in isolation. The bracer was now entirely flush to her skin, or rather, the metal layer over it, and emerged only as three ridged plates that peaked into points. Most astounding to her of all, however, was the lithe, feminine metal hand that softly shone in the light. She turned it over, flexing the fingers individually, and even compared it to her other hand, finding both to be identical.

 

“It’s back,” she said, barely above a whisper.

 

Yang walked over, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It is, and it’s real.” She stepped around her, getting a better look at the arm. “Yeesh, that’s pretty sleek. You got a name in mind?”

 

Blake turned her hand over, looking at the arm “I don’t know.” She turned to Yang. “What’s your arm named?”

 

Yang froze, turning to Peter and meeting his annoyed smirk. “I, uh, never named it. Huh.”

 

Blake chuckled, before turning to Peter. “You said this was a combination of your many achievements, right?”

 

“Yes,” Peter said. “The A.I., liquid metal alloy, and aura integration were all separately made, and getting them together into this hand may be my magnum opus.”

 

“Hmmm,” Blake hummed, , before smiling. “I think I’ll call it Getemono.”

 

Peter blinked, looking at Blake and asking “What does Getemono mean?”

 

“It’s an old, long dead language,” Yang said, making Blake snap to her in surprise. “It means ‘cobbled together’ or something similar, basically a haphazard amalgamate.”

 

“That’s… right,” Blake stammered in surprise. “How did you know that?”

 

Yang chuckled. “The old man who turned me into a Demon was basically immortal because of his semblance. He lived during that time, and spoke that language first. I trained under him for so long that I became fluent in it.”

 

“You’re fluent in  _ Ancient Mistrali _ ?” Blake asked, astounded. “That language has been dead for centuries!”

 

Yang laughed out loud, shaking her head. “So  _ that’s _ where that old bastard was from!” She chuckled again. “What, can you speak it?”

 

Blake shook her head. “I only know bits and pieces. I was… something of an enthusiast back when I was in the Fang. I have a pretty big collection of Ancient Mistrali pieces and weapons back at my hideout in the Beacon District.”

 

“Whoa, hold up,” Yang said, “ _ hideout? _ ”

 

“Yeah,” Blake said. “Speaking of, I need to go back there.  _ Someone _ destroyed my weapon, so I need to grab a new one.”

 

“Hey, I only broke the sword,” Yang said, putting her hand on her hip with a smirk “You’re the one that blew the thing up, and  _ me _ with it.”

 

“Shut up,” Blake laughed, playfully slugging Yang on her one arm. Her eyes bolted open when she heard crunching, as her prosthetic hand had shattered against Yang’s bicep, and had begun knitting itself back together. “Wow, what the Hell are you made of?”

 

“Anger, homosexuality, and an uncanny fondness for pickles and sake,” Yang said with a chuckle, before turning to Peter. “PT, why did you need my arm anyway?”

 

“Just needed to apply a few updates, so it matches the companion piece,” Peter said, turning around to do just that. He flipped a few panels, installing a handful of things. “While I do this, here’s said companion,” he said, handing her a gauntlet that greatly resembled her prosthetic arm. “It took a lot of figuring, but this gauntlet has the same offensive tech as your arm. Of course, it doesn’t have the guts, but it has the tech to resist your impacts, the dust engines, and the claws. Plus, it’s already got the new stuff in there.”

 

Yang took the gauntlet, slipping it over her hand with Blake’s help. She flexed the fingers, and clenched her fist. “You took measurements when I was asleep, didn’t you?” she said with a chuckle.

 

“Hardly, just used your prosthesis’ measurements,” he said, snapping one last panel shut, and handing her arm back.

 

Yang snapped the arm back into place, moving it around to make sure everything worked. “So, what’s all this new stuff you’re talking about?”

 

“There’s new hardware in the dust engines,” Peter said, tapping on blueprints that Yang and Blake both glanced at. “Before, the batteries were really a lightswitch. On and off. But with the handful of limiters I’ve put in place, you can tap into the energy in smaller amounts multiple times, augmenting blows with smaller electrical pulses. There’s a lot more potential to it now.”

 

“Nice,” Yang said, turning to Blake. “Looks like we’ve both got some new stuff to learn, huh?”

 

Blake nodded, and turned to Peter. “Thank you, Peter. Thank you for this second chance.”

 

Peter scoffed. “Way I see it, this ain’t a second chance. This is your payment for bringing Yang back here, safe.”

 

“Aw,” Yang said in a mocking tone, “you do care, PT.”

 

“Can it,” Peter said. “ _ You  _ on the other hand owe me three hundred thousand for that helmet.”

 

“That cost  _ three hundred thousand lien? _ ” Yang asked, causing Blake and Peter to both laugh. It was a sound that brought a smile to Yang’s face. “Whatever, that’ll be on your check this weekend then, old man.”

 

“It’d better be,” Peter said with a laugh.

 

Blake shook her head. “I’ll leave for my hideout, if that’s okay.”

 

Yang nodded. “Yeah, let’s go!”

 

Blake blinked. “You’re coming with me?”

 

“You’re kidding right?” Yang said. “My best friend, er, partner, er, girlfriend?” she asked, scratching the back of her head sheepishly as she tried to find the right word.

 

“Girlfriend is… good,” Blake said, smiling subtly, causing Yang to blush like a madwoman.

 

“R-right,” she stammered, embarrassed. “My  _ girlfriend _ has a secret hideout, and you’re expecting me to not want to check it out?”

 

Blake chuckled, even though she knew there was more to it than that. Even though she knew this was Yang’s way of testing her. Blake had accepted that she’d need to earn Yang’s trust all the way back. This was a big step toward doing that. “Then let’s get going.”

 

“Sweet!” Yang said. “We can take my ride.”

 

“Your bike?” Blake asked. “Wasn’t that found at the site of your, er-”

 

“Death, yes, Gods we’ve all done it.” Yang said with an exasperated tone, getting a chuckle out of Peter. Yang grinned wide. “And if you think that that little old thing could carry me now, you’re sadly mistaken.”

 

“Oh? Do tell,” Blake said, a mock tone present in her voice. “What deathtrap will we be taking?”

 

Yang just laughed, both making Blake join her, and also feel a sense of humorous dread mounting.

 

*****

 

“ _ That’s _ your ride?”

 

Blake’s question was loaded with shock as she stared not at the motorcycle she’d been anticipating, but rather an enormous pickup truck, with darkened windows that looked bulletproof, and very rugged looking tires, likely puncture resistant. The black paint was riddled with scratches and bullet dents, likely from rival gangs. She looked back at Yang, and found her beaming with a smile that quickly became infectious.

 

“Yup!” Yang said, crossing her arms. “It may not look like much, but it’s my personal chariot. It  _ may _ also be the only thing here I can ride in.”

 

“What?” Blake asked, her confusion deepening.

 

“Blake, I weigh close to 800 pounds,” Yang said. “The aura manipulation I use altered my body physically, dramatically increasing and strengthening my muscle mass. Plus, there’s about a 100 pound metal arm attached to me.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “There’s not a motorcycle on the planet that could carry that reliably, and it’s heavy enough to unbalance or even damage the suspension on a normal car. It was  _ way _ cheaper to build this monster than to reinforce every sedan in the fleet.”

 

Blake took a moment to process the information. “So you weren’t exaggerating at Beacon,” she said, remembering Yang’s baffling feat in keeping upright as stones dragged her down the elevator shaft. “Wait, didn’t you drive to the docks?”

 

“I was under emotional duress, I can’t be held accountable for that,” Yang said, her tone only half serious. “Plus, I kinda wrecked that car to high hell. There’s a reason we walked back.”

 

“Fair,” Blake said, before flinching as something jingly impacted against her chest, catching it as it fell, finding it to be a pair of keys.

 

“Well, get in, you’re driving,” Yang said before climbing into the bed and plopping down, shaking the truck slightly. 

 

Blake felt even more deeply confused. “You’re not driving?”

 

Yang shook her head. “It’s safest for me to sit in the bed. Something as heavy as me off centre is bad in case we get into trouble and need to kick it into gear. Could send the suspension off balance and crash us. And you’re  _ significantly _ less crash proof than me.”

 

“Again, a fair point,” Blake conceded, shaking her head as she got into the cabin, sliding the back window to the side so she could at least hear Yang talking.

 

“Plus, it’s not like I know where your hideout is,” Yang said, sticking her tounge out. 

 

Blake sighed with a smile. “For a world infamous mob boss, you have a tendency to act like a tremendous child.”

 

“Hey,” Yang said, her face seeming to sober for a second. “It’s better than moping around, right?”

 

Blake paused, before nodding. “You’re right.”

 

“”Right!” Yang said, before putting her hands behind her head. “Now, off to the Blake Lair!”

 

“It’s not called the Blake Lair,” Blake sighed, before turning the ignition and driving out of the garage and onto the streets. “We should be there in about half an hour, it’s across town.”

 

“That’s fine, not like there’s a tonne of traffic these days,” Yang said.

 

The two sat in silence for the remainder of the drive, until they arrived at their destination, a ruined clock tower in the Beacon District. Blake killed the engine and stepped out, before jumping at the sudden sight of Yang leaping from the bed and landing directly next to her.

 

“A clock tower?” Yang asked, putting her hands on her hips as she looked upward at the broken clock face. “Kinda cliche, don’t you think?”

 

“Yes,” Blake said, walking into the building. “That’s why it’s not at the top.” She walked over to the elevator, and pressed her right thumb hard into the button. The seemingly derelict elevator then opened, and Yang and Blake both stepped on.

 

“Thank the Gods it’s got a good weight capacity,” Yang muttered. “So is it partway up?”

 

“No, below,” Blake said, pressing the only button on the elevator’s panel, causing it to lurch downward. “This place was established as a watchpoint after the Fall, directly in the district in order to give huntsmen a retreat point. It was compromised and abandoned about 16 months ago, and was cut from the network. But not before the internal systems made a backup of every thumbprint of Hunt members who could open it, including mine.” Blake looked at Yang’s awestruck face, and grinned. “Be thankful I didn’t blow off my right hand, or we’d never be able to get in here.”

 

“Geez,” Yang said, “you stole a Hunt hideout? Hardcore.”

 

“Hardly,” Blake said. “It’s your fault it got compromised anyway, with how much the Hunt backed out of Vale.”

 

“True,” Yang said, as the elevator dinged and the doors opened, revealing a small, plain room, with a large computer at the end, and weapon racks and workbenches lining the rest. A small cot with a simple sheet and pillow sat in the corner, next to a small pile of books, making Yang smile. “Nice… place you have here.”

 

“It’s not like we’ll be here for long,” Blake said, walking to the far side of the left wall. “I’m only grabbing one thing.”

 

“What  _ is _ all this stuff?” Yang asked, looking at the numerous, wicked looking bladed weapons on the racks.

 

“It’s a small part of my collection,” Blake said, looking up at the wall. “It’s not much, just what I had asked to be buried with. Mostly the particularly rare pieces, or the ones that had a story to them.”

 

“I see,” Yang said, before snapping back to Blake. “Wait,  _ buried _ ?” she shouted. “Blake, did you graverob yourself?”

 

“I was buried in the family mausoleum, it wasn’t very hard.”

 

“That’s not the point!” Yang said, “Isn’t it… y’know, disrespectful?”

 

Blake turned to her. “...to who? It was my grave.” She shook her head. “Forget about it, it’s not important. What’s important is this.” She reached up and grabbed a single sword off the rack, a simple-looking katana in a wooden scabbard and handle that seemed cut from the same piece of wood. Blake slowly drew the sword, and Yang noticed its blade was a glossy black, with small speckles in it that made it resemble outer space.

 

“Whoa,” Yang said, “what is that?”

 

“A katana forged with gravity dust, and a lot of it,” Blake said, drawing the blade all the way, looking up and down it. “The properties of the dust were transferred into the steel upon forging, which resulted in the sword no longer being affected by gravity. The blade was made of a much denser steel than usual because of this, giving it incredible mass without having any weight. It’s an incredibly lethal weapon.”

 

“No kidding,” Yang said, looking upward as her mind focused on math. “You could swing that thing faster than the average sword due to a lack of weight, but its tremendous mass when paired with that acceleration would output forces that frankly scare  _ me _ .”

 

Blake chuckled. “I knew you were smart, but I never figured you for a physics girl.”

 

Yang laughed out loud in response. “I may not seem like it, but I’m pretty handy when it comes to physics. I  _ did _ build an entire motorcycle from scratch. Do you know how much physics work goes into that?”

 

“I shudder at the thought,” Blake said.

 

“You would if you saw my notes,” Yang said.  “But anyway, where in the world did you even get that?”

 

Blake’s smile faltered. “It was my mother’s, back when she was a guardswoman for the chieftain’s family in her youth. That’s how she met my dad,” she said, her smile returning briefly, “she caught him sneaking out, and he wagered that if he could beat her in a fight, he could go out.”

 

“Did he win?” Yang asked.

 

“ _ Fuck _ no, my mom kicked his ass seven different ways,” Blake said. “But that caught my dad’s eye, and he had her promoted to his personal guard, which meant she was given this sword to better serve him. She named it ‘Original Bet,’ as a reference to their wager. Things happened, they fell in love, and well, I was passed this sword when I started training as a fighter.”

 

“But what about Gambol Shroud?” Yang asked. “If you have this, why use that?”

 

“Shroud was…” Blake paused, shaking her head. “It was the only gift from Adam I held onto, if only because it was my only weapon, and after awhile I became dependant on it.” She sheathed the blade, and turning to the computer, drew it seemingly faster than Yang could see in a sweeping slash. Even though she was feet from the monitor, the sword created a wave of wind forceful enough to shatter the screen and knock it off its mounting, as well as jostling and knocking over other things on the shelves as the air settled down in the room. “It’s time that changed.” She looked at the plain wood of the scabbard and handle, and frowned. “Though it needs some improvements. It needs to be  _ my _ weapon. No One else’s,” she said, sheathing the sword yet again. 

 

Yang, flabbergasted by the effect of the blade, nodded in response, before something caught her eye. There was a row of what looked like half masks, that only covered the lower half of her face. They seemed to be carved from wood, and held on with leather. She took one in her hands, one that looked like the mouth of a scowling, Mistrali-styled demon, painted a deep red with white fangs. She noticed the wood was lacquered with a special dust resin that would mean it wouldn’t burn, and she could easily replace the leather so that it wouldn’t catch either. She held it up to her face, and glanced in the now cracked mirror that hung on the far end of the room. She admitted, with her hood up, it looked even more intimidating than her mask, especially when she turned her eyes crimson to complete the effect.

 

“Do you like that?” Blake asked, making Yang jump. “You can take it if you want. I think it suits you.”

 

Yang smiled, putting the mask into her waistband next to her gun. “Thanks.”

 

“Are you sure it’s a good idea, though?” Blake asked, putting her metal hand on Yang’s shoulder.

 

Yang took a deep breath. “Yes. As much as I know I’m not better, not even close, fact of the matter is that a mask is a necessity.” She looked back in the mirror, and saw a reflection of herself, in her old helmet. She knew it wasn't her under that helmet. It never was. “Stardust needs to exist. But this mask will let Yang be the one underneath it too.” She turned around, and wrapped her arms around Blake, who in turn returned the embrace. “It may be weird timing, but, er,” Yang asked, her face reddening, “can I kiss you again?”

 

Blake smiled, and simply leaned in, Yang meeting her in the middle for a tender, sweet kiss that was quickly parted, their foreheads resting together as they smiled. They stood still for a few moments, before Blake broke the embrace, nodding towards the elevator. Yang nodded, and they boarded the elevator, and began heading back upward.

 

“So,” Yang asked, eyeing the sword. “Are you gonna rename it?”

 

Blake looked at the blade again. “Yeah,” she said. “I’d decided on it on the way over here. It’ll get some overhauls, but the finished product will be called Everything on Black.”

 

“Interesting,” Yang said. “Because it’s all you?”

 

Blake nodded. “It shows me putting my faith back into myself.”

 

Yang smiled. “You nerd.”

 

Blake scoffed. “Says the person who hasn’t even come up with my code name, much less for your own weapon.”

 

Yang stuck her tongue out again. “I  _ do _ have your code name picked out. It’s Black Rose.” Yang said, before turning away to hide her quickly reddening face. “Because, y’know, you’re like family to me. You’re the Black Rose of the family.”

 

Blake immediately blushed, before wrapping her arms around Yang’s shoulders. “That’s really sweet, Yang.”

 

“Thanks,” Yang said, as the doors opened. The two walked out, and got back into the truck, Blake starting the engine. “Now let’s go home. We have training to do, us and Emerald both.”

 

“True indeed,” Blake said, before grinning. “But you still don’t have a name for your weapons.”

 

Blake quickly closed and locked the back window of the truck as she drove, Yang’s frustrated tirade barely audible over Blake’s laughter.


End file.
